


Yellow highway lines

by livinginthequestion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chilaquiles, DCBB2019, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2019 (Supernatural), Gen, Mary mention but she's not actually in the story, Pining, S14E12 canon divergent, Temporary Amnesia, alternating povs, alternative ending, my favorite beach town, neither is Jack, remember writers can do ANYTHING
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 21:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livinginthequestion/pseuds/livinginthequestion
Summary: Weeks had gone by since Michael reneged on his pledge and took possession of Dean permanently; since he’d begun waging his war against humanity and the earth, killing without remorse or restriction; since Dean had, through sheer strength of will, slammed the door on the archangel in his mind. He was still holding that door shut, but growing ever more desperate, to the point that he seriously considered the Ma’lak Box as the only solution available to him.What if Cas did some research - and came up with an alternative to the Ma’lak Box, a ritual to eject Michael from Dean’s mind? Spellwork so powerful it ripped the archangel loose with the force of a heavenly cataclysm, destroying him in the process - and leaving behind terrible consequences for Dean?Follow Cas and Sam's desperate cross-country search for Dean, and Dean's journey to find himself, his memories - and maybe find out what he really wants.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills implied
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73
Collections: DCBB 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finally finished a DCBB! Thanks to my dear [ WinJennster](https://tumblr.com/winjennster.tumblr.com) for the inspiration and the read-throughs, [stupidbadgers](https://tumblr.com/stupidbadgers.tumblr.com) for the cheerleading, and my wonderful artist [zaffre](https://tumblr.com/zaffrefic.tumblr.com), who waded through a crazy work schedule and major time difference to work with me. Don't forget to check out her adorable art [here](https://tumblr.com/https://zaffrefic.tumblr.com/post/188910889378/please-find-above-my-art-for-livinginthequestions)!

_I wait in 4/4 time_  
_Count yellow highway lines_  
_That you're relying on to lead you home_

Much later, after grinding along through weeks of increasingly grim searching, combing the internet for leads, following up on fewer and fewer possibilities, watching the trail grow cold and dry — only then did Sam, awkward and gruff with regret, admit to Cas that the original idea had been a spectacularly bad one. He was surprised when Cas clasped Sam’s hand in both of his, and said, “No, Sam, it was an excellent idea. Our failure lay in execution, that’s all. And you know Dean wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

Weeks had gone by since Michael reneged on his pledge and took possession of Dean permanently; since he’d begun waging his war against humanity and the earth, killing without remorse or restriction; since Dean had, through sheer strength of will, slammed the door on the archangel in his mind. He was still holding that door shut but growing ever more desperate, to the point that he seriously considered the Ma’lak Box as the only solution available to him. Cas overheard Sam and Dean arguing about the Box and Dean’s plan. Horrified, he’d spent the night in the library, researching feverishly.

In the morning, Sam stumbled into the kitchen, following the smell of fresh coffee. He came to a sudden stop just inside the door.

“Cas, hey. I thought you must be Dean, up early making coffee. Hey, are you all right?”

Cas’ hands were clenched together on the table, white-knuckled. His face actually looked haggard. Sam frowned.

“How about some coffee, and then you tell me what’s up?” Without waiting for an answer, Sam moved to the counter and filled a couple of mugs and carried them back to the table. He set them down as he sank into the chair opposite Cas.

“C’mon, Cas, I can see you’re upset.”

“More like extremely worried, Sam.”

Sam half-smiled. “Okay, extremely worried then. What’s going on?”

Cas sighed and looked down at his hands, curved around the mug. “Sam, I heard you and Dean talking last night. After you left I had a look at what Dean’s been working on.” He waited, staring pointedly at Sam, who had gone completely still, his face tight and closed. Cas gave him a disgusted look.

“Sam, I know about the Ma’lak Box, I know what Dean wants to do. I want you to know that it’s absolutely unacceptable. I won’t allow it.” He was almost growling, his eyes blazing. Sam leaned slightly away from him involuntarily, gulping. He could feel his own face warming.

“Look, Cas…” Sam sighed and frowned down into his coffee. “Dean asked me to help him, and he made it pretty clear he was planning to go ahead no matter what. I guess I just didn’t want him to have to do this alone, and maybe I was hoping I could come up with an alternative before it comes to that.” Sam’s eyes came up and met Cas’ across the table. “But I wish I hadn’t kept it from you. You have a right to know.”

Cas’ face softened; he even managed a small smile. “No need to apologize, Sam. I know how convincing Dean can be.”

“Stubborn, bull-headed and completely unwilling to listen to anything that isn’t what he wants to hear, you mean.”

Cas smiled fondly, looking down at his hands. “Yes, I suppose that’s more accurate. Your brother does have a way of ignoring everything that doesn’t align with his objectives.” His voice was far away; his eyes stayed on his hands as his smile faded. Sam watched him, frowning slightly. After a few minutes Sam cleared his throat.

“I was thinking about something, Cas. I mean, we know we can contain an archangel with a ring of holy oil, right?”

Cas looked up at him. “Yes, of course.”

“And even though Michael’s sort of overstayed his lease, technically angels need consent from their vessels, right? It’s angel law or something.”

“Yes, that’s correct. What are you getting at, Sam?”

“Well, I’ve been doing some research, and — What?”

Cas’ face looked like he was struggling not to smile. “My apologies, Sam. I was going to say, when are you not doing research?”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, there’re some pretty old texts in the dusty part of the library, and I think maybe I — well, we — I think we can come up with something to add to the spell, the casting-out ritual, whatever. Think that might work?”

“No. I don’t know. How can I be sure? This is unprecedented, both the idea of expelling an archangel and possibly destroying him at the same time, and Michael’s original perfidy. We’d be....” Cas’ voice trailed off, and he looked miserably up at Sam.

“Making it up as we go?” Sam smiled wryly, and Cas managed to return the smile. “I know it’s a long shot, Cas. All we can do is dig into the lore, make sure we’ve covered as many bases as we can, make our plans, and then go in hard and hope for the best. What do you say?”

Cas sat silently, staring darkly at the opposite wall. Finally, he sighed deeply and nodded at Sam, who nodded back grimly and pushed to his feet.

“All right, let’s get this going then. Every day it’s harder for Dean to hold on, I want this bastard out of him. Show me what you’ve got.”

When the moment finally came, the familiar routine of preparing — assembling spell ingredients on the table in careful order, pouring the oil in a wide, quick circle, checking the lighter to make sure it worked — vanished in an instant. The moment the dropped lighter ignited the circle, trapping Michael inside, their quiet readiness gave way almost immediately to the urgent acceleration of an out-of-control train. All their research had paid off: the ritual was insanely powerful, just as they’d intended, but they had no hope of controlling it. There was a wild rush of power like a tornado screaming through the small space. Sam recognized the shrieking as Dean’s voice but with a terrible, deep bass note as though it was coming from the dark center of the earth, so loud Sam could barely hear Cas shouting the words of the expulsion spell. Michael, a howl of rage and protest that crescendoed into a wail, the dark-red smoke bursting from Dean’s mouth and crashing into the ceiling; Cas and Sam stumbling backward with the force of the impact; Dean’s body collapsing in the center of the circle as Cas yelled the last words of his incantation. One last disembodied scream; an earsplitting, crashing sound like a thousand mirrors shattering; the red cloud dissipated abruptly with a concussion that shook the room. The doors flew open. Then the room was completely silent, a sudden cessation of noise that made their ears ring.

Sam was first to roll to his knees and struggle up, staggering and shaking his head. Disoriented, he looked around as the dust began to clear, reaching down to pull Cas to his feet.

“Dean?” Cas jerked his head in the direction Sam was looking; they both stood staring.

Dean had stumbled or been thrown into the doorframe, and was just pulling himself upright. He was covered with dust, his hair askew and his eyes wild. A long scratch angled across his forehead, a thin trickle of blood running down the side of his face. He stared back over his shoulder at them, eyes wide with shock. Cas spoke first, his voice shaking.

“Dean, are you all right? It’s over, Dean, come back inside.” Dean started at the sound of Cas’ voice, and Cas tried to smile reassuringly. “It’s over, he’s gone. You’re safe. Sam, I don’t — “

Sam shook himself, clearing his throat painfully. “What’s wrong with him? Is that — what could have — could Michael have — “

“No, no, I don’t think so. I don’t see how. Dean, it’s us, Sam and I are here, you’re safe now, please come — “ Cas broke off as Dean took a step out the door. He looked outward, up at the stairs toward the main floor and the entrance, and took one last glance back at them. There was no recognition in his eyes, no sign of anything but fear. He turned abruptly and ran toward the stairway.

“No, no, Dean, come back!” Sam leaped after him, Cas in his wake, both of them shouting desperately.

“Dean!! _DEAN!!_” They both heard the heavy slam of the outer door as they scrambled up the stairs.

Incredibly, by the time they got outside, just a few jumps behind Dean, he was nowhere to be found. Sam started trotting down the road toward town, but Cas grabbed his arm before his long legs carried him too far.

“Sam, let’s get one of the cars. I think we should take Baby. Dean might recognize the sound of the engine and stop, come back to us. Sam!”

Sam shook his head sharply. “You’re right, that’s the smart thing, we’re more likely to catch up with him in a car. You’re right, sorry, Cas. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s all right, Sam. Believe me, I understand.” Cas patted his shoulder. “I’m very concerned as well. The look on his face…” He trailed off, turning his face away.

“I know. It was like — like he’d never seen us before. Is it possible that Michael could have done something on his way out? Or even just the force of the exorcism might have, I dunno, damaged Dean’s mind somehow? I mean, that spell was pretty juiced up, right?”

Cas sighed. He wouldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes. “Yes, it certainly was. I wasn’t prepared for the power of it, the speed — I’m sorry, Sam, I should never have attempted it without more preparation or deeper research into the possible effects. I’m sorry.”

“No, Cas.” Sam squeezed Cas’ shoulder, giving him a little shake. “You know what? Let's talk about all that later, concentrate on finding Dean now. Right?”

For a second Cas just stood there, his face working, and then startled Sam by grabbing him around the shoulder, hugging him.

“Hey Cas, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out, we always do. Cas?” Sam patted Cas’ back and got an even tighter squeeze in return.

“I know, Sam. We will.” Cas pulled back and tried to smile at Sam. “Please don’t blame yourself. We made a mistake, perhaps, but now Dean is free of Michael for good. We just have to find him and bring him home.”

“Let’s do that. C’mon, I think you’re right about Baby, Dean’ll probably recognize the sound.” Sam chuckled wryly. “Actually, he’ll probably come running when he hears it, and chew my ass for driving her.” They nodded to each other and headed for the garage.

Hours later, just as the sky was beginning to lighten to the east, they rolled back into the garage, closed the outer door, struggled wearily out of the car and trudged back into the bunker. Neither of them said a word until they got to the kitchen, and then just a few murmured questions and answers about breakfast. They hunkered down at the table, listlessly sipping coffee and munching toast. Cas stirred and straightened up, raised his chin.

“Perhaps we should make a few calls, let the hunters’ network know what’s happened. Garth could probably help us get the word out.” He sighed unhappily, wiping at his eyes.

Sam watched him for a moment silently, an intent expression on his face. When he did speak, he seemed to be picking his words carefully.

“Good idea. Garth is good at getting people organized. That’ll be a big help. We should think about scouting around town, maybe questioning a few people. Maybe somebody saw or heard something, it might give us a place to start. Then we can figure out a search plan or something, work step by step from whatever we find out from interviews. What do you think?”

Cas was holding his mug in his hands, rolling it back and forth between his palms, watching the slow, steady movement, a thousand miles away. After a moment Sam reached across and folded his hand over the mug and Cas’ fingers, smiling when Cas’ eyes jerked up in surprise.

“You with me, Cas? Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, I did. I’m sorry, I’m feeling — I think I need to rest a little. I’m suddenly exhausted. I should be out there searching, but I can barely sit up.” Cas sighed and rubbed his face with one hand.

Sam smiled tiredly. “Listen, why don’t you go catch a nap? I’ll make these phone calls and get organized a little, and then we can go out and find some witnesses to interview. Go on, go lie down, get some rest. I’ll get you up in an hour or so.”

Cas sat motionless for a second, and then smiled sadly back at Sam. “Thank you, I will. Don’t let me sleep long, I just need a little rest and I’ll be ready to go with you. No more than an hour.”

Sam nodded and watched Cas get to his feet and shuffle out the door toward his room. Sam swallowed down the last of his coffee, and then started down the hall in the opposite direction, toward the library.

~~~~

At first, he wasn’t thinking or planning; he was barely aware of the ground under his feet, the cool night air flowing over him as he ran. He was definitely running, that sound was his feet pounding on the ground, his breath harsh in his throat and painful in his chest. Why was he running? He couldn’t quite remember — there was a strong sense of terror, something following him, something was coming for him, coming _from_ him, bursting out of him, dark and threatening, a loud roaring, screaming sound in his ears, like a wildfire blasting out of his mind. A vague picture in his head, a door standing open, the smell and heat of a fire behind, other voices, _his_ voice, not in his head anymore but echoing in the room behind him, echoing and fading like a cloud of smoke on the wind. His vision blurred, he could barely see but somehow he was at the door, gasping for breath and hearing himself sobbing in fear, looking back for a second at two out-of-focus figures, shouting desperately at him, the same sound over and over again. And then somehow he was outside, stumbling on the gravel of the road, staring wildly around him at an unfamiliar landscape — _where am I? what is this place?_ The only answer was the sound the figures in the smoky room was yelling at him, over and over: _Dean!_

He ran on, down the darkened road toward the lights of a town.

In his dream he heard the voice, the word repeated louder and louder until it woke him. He gasped in air, rolled to his back, looking up at tree branching rustling in a light breeze, the sky gradually lightening.

“C’mon, buddy, you can’t sleep here. C’mon, let’s go.”

He jerked upright and stared at the man emptying the garbage can, replacing the full bag with an empty. “Where am I?”

The guy gave him a long look, not without sympathy. “Long night, eh? You’re in the city park, pal. I’d let you sleep in but they’d have my hide along with yours.”

He rubbed his face, scrubbing his fingers through his hair and shivering in the chilly air. He could feel the cold dampness seeping into the seat of his pants. “What city?”

Long silence. “Uh, Lebanon. Hey, are you okay? Do you want me to call somebody?”

“No.” He sucked in a breath and made an effort to calm down and not look crazy. “No, I’m fine, just a little — messed up, I guess.” He tried to smile reassuringly.

The guy made a face, shaking his head. “C’mon, just let me call for some help, you’re looking pretty rough. What’s your name, pal?”

He frowned down at his hands, struggling to find words, to pull out that basic information. Panic rising, he rolled to his knees, feeling the press of the walls of the little room, the smell of oil burning, the sense of danger and chaos, the sound of a voice shouting out…

“Dean.” That must be what the guy was yelling at him: his name. “My name’s Dean.”

After a few more reassurances, the park guy unlocked the little restroom for him, and Dean spent several minutes trying to clean up. It took a long time to get the smell out of his hair and off his face and hands; his clothes were a lost cause. Finally, he shuffled outside, to find the maintenance guy still hanging around.

“Hey, I’m fine, really. Just a little too much party last night, I’ll be okay.”

The guy watched him, a little frown between his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure you will, I just feel bad leaving you here like this. My truck’s just down the block, why don’t I give you a ride home? Couldn’t be too far, you walked here, right? Where do you live?”

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it again. He could feel that panic rising again: he had no idea where he lived, or how to find his family, or how to call them, or even who they were. Or who _he_ was. Except for the vague feeling that there was danger somewhere behind him, he couldn’t remember anything.

Dean started walking. At first, he just followed his feet where they took him, walking fast, his mind roiling, hardly seeing where he was going. Finally, he began to tire, to slow down and breathe. His pace slackened; he looked around at the houses passing by, fewer and fewer and with more distance between them. He started to relax, letting his mind wander; he thrust his hands in his pockets. He pulled one hand out and blinked down at it: a handful of twenties and tens, a few ones, some coins, nearly one hundred dollars in all.

Dean stood in the dust of the road, holding the money and wondering what to do next. On cue, his stomach growled loud enough to make him start. Okay, first problem to solve: food. He turned to look back the way he’d come, standing for a long moment. Looked like a pretty shabby little town; maybe they had a diner?

Down the street from the one and only market he found it: Maggie’s Buns, more of a bakery than a restaurant but with a couple of tables and a small menu. Judging by the aroma it was worth a shot. The middle-aged woman behind the counter smiled at him.

“Hey, Dean, how are ya?” Her eyes sparkled warmly, and Dean gulped.

“Hey, uh… Maggie?” He sounded awkward and ridiculous in his own ears, but she laughed easily.

“Wow, must have been a rough night. How ‘bout some breakfast?”

“Yeah, that’s — that’d be great, thanks.”

She waved him away. “Have a seat and I’ll fix you a plate. Be right back.” She disappeared through a curtain into the kitchen.

“Here ya go.” Maggie set a steaming plate of food in front of him and poured a giant mug of coffee. “I got a bet going with the busboy. He thinks you can’t eat all that, but he’s never seen you eat.” She winked as Dean blinked up at her. “Don’t let me down, kiddo.”

“Uh, I’ll try, thanks.” Dean managed an awkward smile and scooped up a forkful of eggs, diced potatoes, pork sausage, peppers. It tasted as wonderful as it smelled, and he smiled blissfully. Maggie chuckled.

“Good, eh?” Dean nodded, still chewing, and Maggie patted his shoulder. “Enjoy. You need anything else? Tabasco?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Okay, I’ll go grab that, it’ll be just a few minutes.” Maggie moved off toward a couple of new customers at the counter, and Dean allowed himself to relax just a little and enjoy his breakfast.

Several more customers entered the cafe one after the other, and it was more than a few minutes before Maggie headed back to Dean’s table. She plopped the bottle of Tabasco alongside his plate.

“By god, I think you’re gonna get all that down, my man. I’ll share my winnings with you.” Dean started slightly at the sound of her voice and gave her a half-smile.

“Yeah, it’s… It’s really good, thanks. I was pretty hungry.”

Maggie nodded, topping off his mug. “Looks like.” She glanced at his face. “You doing okay, sweet thing?”

Dean scowled into his plate. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he growled, and reached for the mug for another gulp, not meeting her eyes.

Maggie watched him for a moment. “Okay, just checking.” She cleared her throat. “So how’s Sam getting along? Haven’t seen him for a while, boy’s always got his nose in that laptop of his, I swear. He staying outta trouble? Dean?”

Dean was sitting bolt upright, clutching the edge of the table, his eyes staring blankly. All he could see were the images in his head, indistinct but frightening: darkness, with flashes of fire and smoke, human voices shouting and the huge, silent voice in his head, the pain so great he was dizzy with it, his terror rising like the tide. All he felt was that terror, and the urgent need to leave, get out, get somewhere far away from whatever was pursuing him.

“You okay, honey?”

Dean jerked his attention back to the present and the diner, heart pounding. He stared up at the woman frowning down at him.

“Yeah, uh, sorry, I gotta — I need to go, thanks for breakfast, sorry, I’m —” He delivered this awkward reply while fumbling to his feet, tripping over the table leg and nearly falling. Pale, sweating, he made for the door, leaving an astounded Maggie in his wake, open-mouthed with shock. Dean all but staggered out the door, barely restraining himself from breaking into a run.

_I gotta get out of here. How am I gonna do this?? Gonna have to hitch, hope for the best. I gotta get outta here!_ His mind raced; all he could focus on was the first step: getting out of town and away from whatever-it-was behind him.

~~~~

By midday, Sam and Cas found a maintenance worker in the city park who’d seen Dean. That eventually led them to the little diner on Main Street. Maggie greeted Sam with a smile and a wink.

“Hey guys! Today must be Winchester day, I served that brother of yours breakfast awhile ago. He make it home okay? Sounded like he’d had a wild night.” She held up the coffee pot, looking at them questioningly.

“No thanks, Maggie, we’re coffee’d out for today. We’re actually looking for Dean, he didn’t come home after all. Did he say anything about, I don’t know, bunking up somewhere else and sleeping it off?”

Maggie frowned a little, leaning on the counter and looking back and forth between Sam and Cas. “No, not really. He actually didn’t say much of anything, he was barely conversational. Now that I think of it, he sort of bolted out here, kinda skittish.” She gave them a half-smile. “Worried me a little. He doesn’t usually miss a chance to give me a hard time.”

Cas looked stricken; Sam spoke quickly, leaning forward a little to get Maggie’s attention off Cas’ miserable face.

“I’m sure he’s fine, probably just found a place to sleep it off. He’ll be along by dinnertime.”

“Yeah, no doubt. Hey, did you find where he parked? That land barge of his is plenty big enough to sleep in.”

“Uh, yeah, good idea, we’ll look for it. Thanks, Maggie. Hey, if he happens to wander back in let me know?”

She nodded. “Course. If it helps, when he hightailed it outta here he was walking out toward highway 281.”

“Thanks again, Maggie.” Sam smiled at her, then turned and hustled Cas out onto the street.

A little girl walking along the road just outside of town told them she saw her brother pick up a hitchhiker on his way out of town, on his way to Smith Center for the day. They made the twenty-minute trip in record time, but when they found the brother at a little park in the center of town, he’d already dropped off his passenger, a couple of hours before. The guy’d talked about heading further west, walking off in that direction. Cas and Sam drove west on highway 36, struggling to keep their speed not too far above the limit until they’d gone as far as they figured Dean could walk in the hours since morning. There was no sign of him; either he was holed up somewhere, on a different road, or he’d gotten another ride.

They made their way back toward Lebanon, Cas driving while Sam took several calls from Garth and other hunters who had gotten Garth’s messages. Everyone they knew, and others they didn’t, were keeping an eye out. Three separate hunters were driving toward Kansas from further west, tracking down their own cases but keeping watch for Dean.

No one had seen him. No one reported so much as a possible sighting.

~~~~

After the ride to Smith Center, it was a matter of hitching as much as he could, staying in YMCAs and mission shelters and the occasional city park; odd jobs, working for cash, staying around one place long enough to buy a few clothes, some food, a small pack to carry them in. That became his pattern: travel as far as he could on what he had, stop in a likely-looking town and pick up day labor for a few days or weeks, anything that paid in cash. Stay until he’d managed to squirrel away enough money to get out of town again, always moving west. Gradually, as time passed and he got better at playing the part of a homeless drifter, people stopped asking questions, stopped really seeing him. He faded into the general background, unremarkable, and he could relax a little.

Dean discovered that most towns of any size had a spot somewhere that men looking for day work gathered: grocery store parking lots, a street corner near a church, the contractors’ entrance at Home Depot. Sometimes people drove by looking for a couple of guys to clear brush or pull weeds; the jobs were sometimes a little more complicated, and Dean picked up skills building a patio or a new porch. He discovered he had a knack for improvising, solving problems, making things work.

The other day laborers usually figured out pretty quickly there was something slightly off about him, and he decided it was better to be upfront about his memory loss. After all, in a way they were in the same boat with him: not wanting to broadcast their presence or their situation, doing their best to put in a day’s work and not attract attention. He did the same and found himself accepted as one of them. When the time came for him to move on from a town he’d spent some time in, he formed the habit of going to the meeting place on the last morning, to say an awkward goodbye.

Walking along I70 outside of Grand Junction, Colorado, on a late-spring afternoon with clouds rolling in over the distant hills carrying the promise of rain, Dean came across a young couple at the side of the road, car hood up and worry on their faces. They were desperate, and desperately grateful when he agreed to have a look, not that he had any idea what he was looking at, or for.

Except that he did. Something about the way the different components of the engine flowed together made sense to him; when they described what the car had been doing, something in his memory whispered _distributor cap_. The tools fit in his hand; before he realized what he was doing he had the cap pulled off, its scorched and scarred interior proof his instinct was right. Later, after the tow truck driver dropped the kids and their car off, he offered Dean two things: a meet-and-greet with the head mechanic at the shop in the morning, and a place to sleep for the night. The job lasted as long as it took for the boss to discover the social security number Dean gave him was a fake, but it gave Dean another idea about how to support himself, and another clue to his past.

He ended up staying Grand Junction for a couple of months, working steadily, saving money and feeling restless. Winter seemed to be lingering; a couple of late snowstorms convinced him he was better off staying in the snug little rooming house. By early May Dean had a comfortable amount of money saved, enough to get him at least partway across the desert between him and the west coast. He probably could have stayed on, made an okay living, whatever. No real reason to keep moving.

But the truth was — the truth was, he couldn’t settle down, he couldn’t get comfortable. He’d started having dreams at night, dreams that made no sense to him. At first, they were usually dark, he couldn’t really see anything, just a roiling darkness like being trapped in a small, smoky room. Sometimes he could see a dull red glow, like firelight, and a heavy presence, someone or something just out of his field of vision. Even when he could see things more distinctly, it was mostly monstrous faces and teeth like fangs. Pain, fear, and darkness — he wasn’t getting much sleep. He hit the road again as soon as the danger of frost was past.

He kept traveling, pushing on as though he were being followed. Sometimes it felt like he was. After a while in his dreams he had the sense that the watcher was something in his head; not imaginary, but someone else inside his head. Someone was standing so close behind him it was almost in his space, the same space. Dean felt a sharp spike of terror, hearing a scream hanging in the air, yanking him out of sleep. He came awake shouting something, a word repeated. A name maybe? As he struggled into full consciousness he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye, fading away; someone looking back at him, a slight frown between his blue eyes.

“Dean?? Are you all right?” Pounding on his door, loud and insistent. “Dean?”

“I’m okay, sorry, Joe. Bad dream, that’s all. Sorry I woke you.”

“S’okay. Need anything?”

Dean rubbed his face, feeling tears sting his eyes. “No, I’m gonna try to get back to sleep.”

There was a pause. “Me too, I guess, if you’re sure.”

“Yep. G’night.” Dean listened for the sounds of his roommate’s feet fading down the hall, and lay down again, pulling the quilt up to his chin and blinking up at the ceiling. Sleep was a long time coming, and when it came it was broken, restless.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam and Cas spent the next few weeks after Dean’s disappearance working their way west, stopping at the tiny farming communities that dotted north Kansas, talking to people, showing Dean’s picture, trying to piece together his route. They crisscrossed into the southern part of the state, then back into Nebraska, where they got their first break. A Greyhound driver on a break in North Platte described a man walking along the highway west of town a week or so ago, and identified Dean from the picture Cas clutched in his hand. The driver had seen a truck pulling over for him; he didn’t catch the license or truck number, but the truck passed him later as the bus turned off at Highway 80 for Cheyenne; the whole side of the truck was a huge, familiar logo. “Looked like them boys was headed to Denver for a Coke and a smile.” Sam smiled wanly at the weak joke, and they hurried back to the car and onto the freeway.

The lead fizzled in Denver; no one at the truck yard had seen any hitchhikers, at least none they were admitting to. There were so many highways running out of the hub of the city, at least half of them heading west. Reluctantly, with many backward glances, they headed for home.

Morning in the kitchen, picking at breakfast, both lost in thought. Sam frowned into his coffee and took a gulp.

“Look, Cas, maybe we’re going at this wrong. Searching the way we have, the whole needle-in-a-haystack thing — “ Sam stopped at Cas’ expression. “I mean, we’re looking for one man, without many clues, in a very large area. Right?”

Cas nodded in understanding. “You mean that searching for Dean this way is as futile and likely to fail as searching for a needle in a pile of hay. Go on.”

Sam smiled. “Right. So I was thinking it might work better to approach this the way we do looking for cases. Dean’s a hunter, right? He’s in some kind of, whatever, shock or amnesia from the shock of the — what happened, but he’s still a hunter. What if we looked for the usual weird news stories, reports that sound like potential hunts?”

Cas frowned at him. “How would those stories indicate anything about Dean?”

“Well, maybe a different kind of weird stories. Like, if there was a report of livestock being killed at night, say, by an unusual animal, and then the animal is found dead. Y’know, if a chupacabra was found in a barnyard, with its throat slit. Or something’s been killing people in a way that we recognize as a vampire’s MO, and then it’s found beheaded and the killings stop.”

Cas nodded slowly. “You mean, as though a hunter is following the cases and dispatching the creatures and then moving on.”

“Yeah, yeah. If Dean’s wandering around out there confused and not sure of who he is, he might stumble across a case and just, y’know, instinctively take care of it, and then keep moving. We might find a lead on him that way.”

Cas sat thinking for several minutes, tapping a finger on the tabletop. “All right, Sam, that seems reasonable. We should stay in touch with Garth, let him know if we come up with any real leads, so he can dispatch hunters to follow up.”

“Of course, sure. I’ll call Garth in a bit, let him know what we’re doing. I think it’s time to call Mom too.” He frowned down at his hands, looking up at Cas’ sigh.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I haven’t wanted to upset her, but we probably should have called her sooner.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, I’ve sort of been putting it off too. But she needs to know. Listen, go ahead and start looking for cases. I’ll finish up here and make those calls.”

“All right.” Cas straightened and turned away, already heading for the library and the laptop, then stopped abruptly. “I’ll get started looking for possible cases. Denver is the last place we know Dean passed through, so I’ll start there.” He disappeared down the hall without a word, striding purposefully out of sight.

Sam watched him go, then got to his feet to clean up the breakfast mess.

Get up, eat, check messages, talk with Garth and, weekly, Mary. Spend a few hours looking for cases — or rather, evidence of their kind of cases being solved, presumably by a hunter — and follow up as best they could with phone calls. That became their daily routine for the next several weeks. From time to time one or another of those cases had enough unanswered questions that seemed to warrant an in-person visit. Sometimes there was a hunter near enough to get there before Cas or Sam could; other times, they went themselves. Nearly always both of them; neither could bear to stay behind and wait helplessly.

On those trips, Sam found himself watching Cas more carefully than usual. Cas was never very talkative, but on these long drives he was almost completely silent, looking straight ahead, expressionless. After awhile Sam realized it wasn’t Cas’ usual angelic stoicism; everything, from his jaw to his fists to his ramrod-straight back, was knotted tight, rigid with stress and anxiety, hanging on by his fingernails. Sam was a little afraid to touch him or say anything, in case Cas flew apart in pieces on the spot.

Finally, Sam couldn’t take the desperate silence anymore. Late afternoon light was painting shadows on the hills and fields when he nodded at an approaching exit.

“Gonna pull off there, maybe get some coffee, ‘kay?” Sam glanced over at Cas, who sucked in a breath as though he’d been far, far away and was just returning to reality.

“Yes, of course. I’ll drive if you’re tired, Sam.”

Sam smiled. “Nah, I’m fine, just need a few minutes out of the car. Won’t be long.”

Cas nodded and looked out the window as Sam angled to the offramp, turned toward the gas station just off the freeway. He rolled to a stop in the parking lot, a distance away from the pumps and the little store, and then stayed in his seat, gazing thoughtfully out the window. Cas gave him a puzzled look.

“Aren’t you — did you want coffee?”

“No, Cas. Um, look, I want to say something. You don’t have to answer, just think about it.” Sam paused, looking down at his hands. He glanced over at Cas, waiting patiently, wearing a slightly exasperated look. Sam smiled fondly, wondering how often he’d seen Cas just like that: confronted yet again with the impenetrable strangeness of a Winchester, at a loss but willing to wait it out anyway. Sam’s heart went out to Cas; if he was right about what was going on with his friend, he knew Cas was feeling pretty desperate right now. There was very little Sam could do to help him beyond what they were already doing; nothing except be his friend.

“Okay. We’ve been in tough spots before together, all of us. We’ve had moments when one was in danger and the others were trying to get to him, y’know? This situation has a few complications we don’t usually have,” Cas snorted, and Sam gave him a wry smile, “but it’s still not that different from stuff we’ve dealt with before.”

Cas turned his head away for a second, and then back, not meeting Sam’s eyes. “I suppose you’re right. Your point?”

Sam took a deep breath. “I’m worried about you, Cas. You’re not handling this the way you usually do. You seem really — wrapped tight, you’re so tense and miserable and, and locked up tight. It feels like there’s a huge wall around you and you’re hunkered down inside.” He paused, hoping for a response; Cas had gone completely still, fists clenched on his thighs, staring straight ahead. Sam sighed under his breath.

“I dunno, maybe I’m off base, maybe it’s not my business. Maybe I should just let you handle yourself as you think best. I guess I just want you to know if there’s anything you’re upset about, or just want to talk over, get off your chest, just — I’m here for you, Cas. You know what Dean always says.”

“We’re family.” Cas’ voice was almost unrecognizable: hoarse and shaky, barely audible. Sam blinked.

“We’re family. Whatever you need.” Sam shut his mouth; he didn’t want to push, and he wasn’t sure what else he could say. Cas still hadn’t moved, still faced forward with his jaw rock-hard, eyes unblinking.

“Okay.” Sam slapped Cas’ shoulder. “Coffee, then. You want some, or anything else?”

Cas shook his head, a short, sharp movement. Sam watched him for a moment.

“All right, be right back.” Sam shut the car door and walked toward the store, wondering if he’d done the right thing.

The weeks of researching and looking for cases turned slowly into months. The cold, wet, miserable winter slowly gave way to spring. They still exchanged calls with Garth regularly; just not as often. After several back-and-forth conversations, Mary elected to stay on the road, working her own cases while she kept her ears open for possible news of Dean. There were still cases out west, just as there had always been. After all that time, it was obvious they were just run-of-the-mill cases, nothing special about them, nothing unusual or distinctive enough to indicate Dean’s presence.

Sam and Cas didn’t talk much about it to each other. Neither of them wanted to give up; both recognized the need for their services elsewhere, and slowly, reluctantly, they began to take cases that weren’t west of Denver, cases in other areas that had nothing to do with the search that both of them thought of in every waking moment, dreamed of restlessly and miserably at night.

~~~~

Dean reached the west coast in Oregon at midsummer, the height of the beach season. He wandered up and down the coast for a while, camping out, hoarding the money he still had from the Colorado job and waiting for something to catch his attention, someplace that felt good. Part of what he liked about the area was the lack of large cities; Oregon’s coast was mostly little towns and hamlets, older motels and small houses, with the occasional enclave of expensive homes and fancy restaurants and night spots. He avoided crowds and noise for some vague, instinctive reason; he felt easy and calmer in small towns. The job choices were more limited, but he was pretty sure he could work anywhere, do anything he put his mind to. He might not remember who he was, but he had skills.

Late in July, he fetched up in the little town of Manzanita.

The trucker, a logger who’d picked him up a hundred miles south along Highway 101, let him out on the highway at the top of a little road running away downhill: “Right down the street there. Don’t look like much from here but I swear there’s a nice little town down there. Coffee shop a block up from the beach on the left, tell ‘em Jake sent ya. Good luck, brother.”

Dean nodded and raised a hand as the truck rolled off. He stood looking uncertainly across the highway; all he could see was a cafe and an old building next to it with a sign reading Manzanita Lumber, and the road dropping down away from it, into the setting sun. He took a deep breath, fresh and clean and tasting of salt, and crossed the highway.

Near the bottom, when he could see the afternoon sun sparkling on the ocean, he found the little coffee shop, Bread and Ocean, set back from the street. The aroma of coffee and fresh bread stopped him in his tracks, and a sudden rumble from his stomach reminded him how long it had been since breakfast. Dean pushed the door open.

Gleaming wooden floors; simple, solid-wood furniture; a glass case full of baked goods; a smiling young woman behind the counter. If it wasn’t for the giant pine trees and the smell of the ocean outside, he could be back at Maggie’s Buns. Dean shook his head sharply and moved up to the counter.

“Can I help you, sir?” The woman’s voice — Rindy, her name tag said — was a little uncertain. “Can I get you something?”

“Uh, yeah. A big mug of coffee, black, and — sandwiches, anything like that?”

“Yes sir. I’ve still got some ham and cheese, and I think there’s a tuna salad or two left. Not a lot of selection this late, but the bread’s good and fresh.”

“Ham and cheese, I guess.”

“Good choice, the cheese is local too.” She winked at his puzzled look. “How about some dessert? Sir?”

Dean stood frozen, his attention far away. Dessert, fresh-baked — pie. That’s it, pie. He heard the word like an echo in his mind, and started when Rindy spoke again.

“Hey mister, are you sure you’re okay?”

Dean sucked in a breath. “Yeah, sorry, spaced out for a second. What kind of pie do you have?”

She smiled and peered into the display case. “Let’s see, looks like we have lemon left, and a few slices of apple. Oh, and I see one last lonesome piece of pecan. What’ll it be?”

Again that echo, like a faraway bell. “The pecan, please.”

“Warmed up?”

Dean let out a shaky breath. “Um, yeah, but not till after the sandwich?”

“You got it. Pick a seat and I’ll bring your sandwich and coffee.”

Dean settled at a table that gave him a clear view of both the counter and the entrance of the shop. When the sandwich arrived, with a generous handful of chips alongside, he fell to like a starving wolf. It wasn’t until the sandwich has disappeared and he was nibbling idly at the last few chips that his mind focused on something besides getting food to his empty stomach. Now that he wasn’t so hungry, he could feel how exhausted he was, as though every mile of his long journey was sitting on his shoulders. Rindy approached with his pie and the coffee pot, and he smiled up at her.

“Thanks, Rindy. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.” She gave him a half-smile.

He took a bite and closed his eyes appreciatively. “Mmmm, wow. That’s amazing.”

“It’s the best pie on the coast, I think.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Dean swallowed and glanced up at her. “Your name’s really unusual. Mind if I ask where that came from?”

“My mom, of course.” Rindy rolled her eyes, and he chuckled. “She named me after a character in a movie, for god’s sake. Dorinda. My dad said that was too much name for a little girl, started calling me Rindy for short.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Dean grinned at her eyeroll. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” Rindy set the pot down on the table.

“I’m — the truth is, I’m sort of drifting, looking for a place to settle down, and I don’t think I can get much further west from here.”

Rindy chuckled. “Well, not without a boat. Where are you from?”

“Um, the midwest.” Something stopped Dean from getting more specific, and he tensed waiting for her response, but Rindy breezed on.

“Hmmm... Well, jobs are sometimes scarce around here, although the town’s a little busier this time of year. What do you do?”

Dean thought of the breakdown in Colorado, and the feel of the tools in his hands. “This and that, mostly auto mechanic work. I’m pretty handy with older cars especially.”

Rindy brightened. “Hey, good timing! My brother owns Scovell’s, the auto shop up by the highway, you might have seen it when you came in. Right next to the Big Wave?” Dean nodded, and she went on. “They do a lot of towing up and down the highway, but they’re also the only good-sized shop between Tillamook and Seaside, so they’re fairly busy.”

“Yeah? Your brother, you say?” Dean smiled slightly, one eyebrow raised, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, my brother. I think I have a card of his around, I’ll see if I can find it.”

“Great, that’d be great. And is there any place here to rent a room? I’m not exactly flush, maybe something cheap?”

Rindy stood still for a moment, hand on the coffee pot, watching him intently. Dean did his best to look responsible and non-threatening, and finally, she nodded once.

“Let me make a couple calls. I’ll be right back.” She turned briskly back toward the counter, and Dean watched her pull her phone out of her apron pocket. He took a bite of the pie — warm, buttery and delicious — and mentally crossed his fingers. Sure enough, in a few minutes Rindy came back, a small smile on her lips.

“Okay, I talked to my brother. He says for you to come up to the shop in the morning, he opens up at nine, so you should show up a little before that. And he and my sister-in-law own this place too. There’s a spare room in the back, mostly storage now but there’s a little cot and a bathroom. You’re welcome to bunk in there tonight and we’ll see what we can figure out tomorrow. I open at six if you feel like breakfast.” She looked at him expectantly.

Dean let out a long breath in relief. “Yeah, that’s — thanks, that’s fantastic. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“No problem. Just do right by my brother, that’s all I ask. He needs somebody reliable, y’know?”

Dean nodded vigorously. “I get it, no worries. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.” Rindy winked at him and hurried off again. Dean leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes for a second. _Maybe things are turning my way_, he thought. _Maybe there’s a way out of this after all._

The few times over the last several months when Dean had looked for a regular job, he’d head-first into the biggest problem of not having a past: he also had no identification, not even fake papers he could use to fill out a W-4. The shop owner in Grand Junction just shrugged and paid him in cash without being asked, but he was the exception. Usually the conversation ended with Dean on the street. But Dave just smiled and told him not to worry, they’d get it figured out and he would pay in cash in the meantime, no sweat. Dean had the feeling Rindy had put in a good word, which was amazing to think about. Dave also mentioned putting the word out about a place to live, there was usually somebody’s summer cabin or something that wasn’t being used. Speechless at such unexpected kindness, Dean just nodded, mentally preparing himself to sleep in the stock room for awhile.

Within a month, Dean was settled in a tiny house his new boss knew of, a few blocks off the main drag and just up from the beach. By the time he moved in, he already had a reputation as the go-to mechanic at Scovell’s, especially for older cars. Dave was so pleased to have a mechanic that was as reliable as he was skilled that he pretty much let Dean work his own hours, as long as he put in a full day. It felt good to walk up the street in the morning, carrying coffee for him and Dave, and have people nod to him, call him by name; as though he belonged there, part of the place instead of a stranger.

In spite of all that, though, he still felt unsure of himself, a little self-isolated. He could feel the huge empty chunk in his memories, his knowledge of who he was. He struggled to get past the initial stage of friendly greetings and learning people’s names, to making friends.

Except for Rindy, with her easy kindness and her smile. Something about her made him feel comfortable, relaxed him enough to carry on conversations, joke around a little. One day, feeling in over his depth, Dean made a stumbling, inarticulate effort to flirt with her while he dawdled over his pie. She played along for a few minutes but finally broke into giggles and held up a hand.

“Stop, for the love of god, I can’t go on like this.” Chuckles still bubbled up out of her mouth, and she covered it with her hand, trying to stop. “Dean, sorry, I have to stop you right there.”

“Ugh, I’m really out of practice, I guess.” Dean could feel his cheeks heating, and he ducked his head. “Truth is I don’t really know if I was ever good at this. Pretty awful, huh?”

Her smile faded and she looked at him sympathetically. “N-no, you’re not that bad, just a little — awkward, I guess. But that’s not why I stopped you, I just — I feel like I’ve been lying to you.”

Dean froze and looked up at her, stricken. “What? Why?”

“Nono, it’s not — It’s just that you’re not my type, you know what I mean?”

“Oh. What, I’m not rich enough or something?” He tried to smile, make a joke of it, and she rewarded him with a half-smile.

“No, honey. You’re not girl enough.” She looked at him expectantly, waiting for the penny to drop.

Oh. _Oh._ “Ah. Well, okay then.” Blushing, Dean peered down into his coffee. Rindy snorted and patted his hand.

“Don’t feel bad, I don’t exactly advertise much. I’ve lived around here most of my life so practically everybody around here knows already.”

“Yeah? If you don’t mind my asking, what’s it like for you, living in a small town and all?”

Rindy pursed her lips. “Not too bad. Sometimes somebody who doesn’t know me or isn’t from here says something mean, but there’s usually somebody around to set them straight.”

“Do you ever get — I dunno, lonely?” Dean carefully didn’t meet her eyes, so he didn’t notice her watching him carefully before she answered.

“I used to sometimes. But I went to Portland to college for a couple years. Found out I really like living down here, but I also found a whole new world.” She winked and Dean grinned at her. “I got a girlfriend up there. She’s a teacher now, in a town just west of the city, so I only see her weekends and school holidays, and when I can get away from here for a few days. Pretty good life though, we’re doing great.”

“That sounds good, Rindy. I’m glad.” Dean’s smile faded, and he sat staring down at the tabletop, running a finger along the grain of the wood, his mind far away.

Most mornings he swung by the coffee shop to gather up a variety of espresso drinks for the boss and whoever else was going to be at work that day. Usually it was just him and Dave, and maybe Mario, the part-time guy. Occasionally, when nightmares and restless dreams woke him early, he took the time to eat breakfast. Rindy seemed to know when he came in that early, with that look on his face, he needed plenty of good food and a little space.

One morning late in summer Dean was sitting by the window, watching early morning beach-goers trail down the street toward the ocean and waiting for his breakfast. A couple of locals came in the door; he recognized them as regulars at both the shop and the bar down the street, and nodded as they passed him.

“Hey Dean, you’re up early. How’s it going?”

“Fine, Mark, just hungry for Rindy’s home fries.” Dean smiled up at Rindy, just delivering his plate. “How you guys?”

“Good. Mind if I set?”

Dean gestured at the empty chair, and Mark settled into it, holding up the empty mug for Rindy to fill.

“Hey, you live down toward the end of Manzanita Avenue, don’t you?”

“Right, less than a block up from the beach. Why?” Dean forked up a bite of potatoes.

“Wondered if you heard any ruckus last night. Somebody down the street from you lost their cat.”

Dean frowned. “There was a ruckus about that?”

Mark snorted. “Well, I meant that she heard it screaming and hollering late last night, and when she went out she found it dead on her back step. Looked like a critter got to it. A coyote, I’m guessing.”

Dean shook his head. “I didn’t hear a thing, must have conked out good. D’you often see coyotes in town?”

“Well, not much really, especially not this time of year. They’re usually up in the woods when the weather’s warm and there’s a lot of people around.”

Rindy approached the table, plunking a small plate containing a cinnamon roll in front of Mark. He smiled his thanks at her, and she joined the conversation.

“That’s not the first story I’ve heard like that this week. One of Dave’s neighbors is missing his dog. He hasn’t found it, but he heard a lot of noise outside late at night just like you’re talking about.”

“He didn’t find anything?” Mark managed to get out around a huge mouthful of pastry.

“Well, he found the dog’s collar. Said it looked like it had been torn off.”

The table fell silent for a moment. Mark shook his head and frowned darkly.

“Sounds like we might be having a varmint problem. Bad time for it, lotta tourists around on the weekends, kids and all. We’ll have to keep an eye out, maybe bring the animals in at night.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Rindy gave him a half-smile and refilled the coffee cups.

Throughout this exchange Dean remained silent, listening but not commenting or looking at either of them. Half of his attention was on the conversation, and the other half chasing thoughts through his mind, half-seen memories of — something, a vague memory the talk about unknown animals attacking at night sparked. He finished eating, drained off the last of the coffee, settled up with Rindy and headed up the hill, still without speaking.

He felt distracted the rest of the day, unable to concentrate for very long. Finally, Dave sent him home with orders to “take a nap or something!”


	3. Chapter 3

Sam found Cas in the kitchen one morning late in August. They’d gotten in late from a hunting trip the night before, too tired to do anything more than dump their gear and hit the sack. Now Cas was sitting hunched over in a chair, hands folded on the table and his forehead resting on them; silent, motionless. The laptop was closed up tight, sitting on the table near his elbow.

Sam poured coffee and slipped into the seat opposite his friend. There was nothing to say; Sam had no idea what Cas was feeling, but he understood that silent misery. He sat quietly, sipping coffee, listening to the clock tick. After several moments he spoke, soft and slow.

“Once when we were kids, Dean was twelve or thirteen, I guess, he got caught shoplifting at the corner store. He took a loaf of bread and some peanut butter, I think it was something like that. Food for me. Dad had left us alone again, off who knows where obsessed with his hunt, and we ran out of food and money at the same time. So Dean tried to steal food for me.

“The judge sent him to a boys’ home situation, a bunch of kids in similar kinds of trouble. It was a good thing in a way, or it could have been. The guy that ran the place was pretty great, from what little Dean’s told me about it, and Dean was in school and making friends, having a good life for a little while. Dad left him there for a few months, to punish him I guess, and then we went up and yanked him out again.

“What I remember about that time - I was eight maybe, I already knew Dean was the safe one, the member of the family I could count on. It was the worst few months of my childhood, I think. I didn’t remember Mom, and Dean was the closest thing to a real parent I ever had. And I didn’t understand why he was suddenly gone, why Dad knew where he was but wouldn’t go bring him back with us. To me, it felt like Dean had died, and I was all alone. I thought I’d never see him again, and I wanted to tell him I was sorry he was in trouble because of me, to thank him for the peanut butter. I wanted to tell him I loved him, and I thought I’d never get that chance.”

For a long moment no one moved, neither of them spoke. Finally, Cas let out a long, shaky sigh and pushed himself away from the table and to his feet. He leaned against the counter gazing off across the kitchen, looking at nothing, and sighed again.

“Sam, I’m going to tell you something I have not spoken of to anyone, not even Dean. I understand what you mean, I think. The feeling of not having spoken about — not having expressed myself fully, and then losing that opportunity, is very trying. I’m unaccus — “ Cas’ voice broke, and Sam, caught completely by surprise, could only stare open-mouthed.

Cas cleared his throat and turned away, running a finger around the lip of his mug. “I have come to feel very, ah, close to you and your brother over these years. I suppose you know that, actually.” He managed a crooked smile, and Sam nodded. “I used to refer to, er, the other angels and I, my colleagues, as a family. My brothers and sisters, God as our father. I think now my time on earth, especially after spending so much time with the two of you — I was confused for a long time. The difference between the relationships I had with those I called brother, and the relationship between the two of you, and my relationships with you both…” Cas sighed again and rubbed his eyes.

“The contrast was glaring. And after all the betrayals, the corruption of the laws of God I always thought were sacrosanct, and God himself a, a malingerer…” Cas broke off, staring at Sam’s grinning face.

“Sorry, Cas, I never thought I’d hear you — Sorry, go on.” Sam clenched his teeth to keep from laughing again, and nodded to Cas.

“At any rate, what you said to me that night driving home — you were right. You and Dean have become my family, my true family. You’ve changed the way I see the world, especially humans. You changed the way I see _myself_. I suppose technically I’m still an angel, but I am not who I’ve been for millennia.”

“Um… I’m sorry?” Sam shifted in his chair. “Sorry we messed your life up so much.” He made a rueful face, and Cas smiled for the first time.

“On the contrary, you and Dean have given me a life I couldn’t have imagined. I am beyond grateful, so please don’t apologize.”

“Ah, good, I’m glad. So, what did you mean about not saying something you wanted to?”

“Ah.” Cas made a face. “Well. I. Ah.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, watching Cas’ face carefully. It almost looked as though Cas was _embarrassed_. Sam rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Cas?”

Cas was standing with his back to Sam, shoulders hunched. Abruptly he turned and leaned his hands on the back of his chair, looking down at Sam.

“All right. I remember telling you once upon a time that Dean and I shared a profound bond.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I remember. You weren’t very nice to me back then.” He smirked at Cas’ expression.

“Yes, I remember that too. I was pretty insufferable, wasn’t I?” He shook his head. “Anyway, when I said that I believed it was because of our shared experience in hell.”

Sam gulped. Cas went on.

“We’ve been through so much since then — all of us, of course. But somehow, Dean and I, or rather — I’m not sure how to explain it. There’s hardly a memory I have of Dean that doesn’t include conflict, disagreement, Dean’s bullheadedness…”

Sam laughed. “I’m familiar.”

Cas smiled almost shyly, ducking his head. Sam could have sworn he was blushing.

“So what are you saying, Cas? You guys fight all the time?”

Cas threw a sharp look at Sam, whose face was the picture of innocence. “Yes, well, no, not really. What I’m saying is, Dean engaged with me as equals, right from the start. He never regarded me as a superior being, which I used to think he should have. He never granted me authority, or let me intimidate him, or accepted my word for anything. He was...I think I…”

“You’re in love with him.” Sam met Cas’ glare calmly, a slight smile on his face. “Don’t give me that face, it’s not like you were ever good at faking it. Your poker face really sucks.”

Cas dropped into his chair as though his strings were cut, clutching his forehead. “I don’t know what to do, Sam. This is unbearable. What could have happened to him? He’s alone out there, if you’re right that he doesn’t remember us, then he probably doesn’t remember himself either. What if we don’t find him in time to help him? What if we don’t find him at all?” His face was stricken; to his horror, Sam could see tears in Cas’ eyes.

Without thinking, Sam stood up and pulled Cas to his feet and into a hug. As usual, it was like hugging a board, stiff and awkward — until Cas suddenly sagged against Sam’s chest, all the air rushing out of him. After a minute he patted Sam and stepped back.

“Thank you, Sam. Although I must ask — how long have you known?”

Sam settled back into his chair, unable to keep a smug grin off his face. “A pretty long time, although I wasn’t really sure until lately. I’ve been watching Dean my whole life. He’s better at the poker-face thing than you are, but not all the time.”

For the second time in five minutes, Cas blushed. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to this strange emotional turmoil. Being even somewhat human is definitely a challenge, especially now. I feel out of control, I can’t keep my mind from producing images of the worst possible outcomes, Dean lying in a ditch somewhere, or gone out of his mind and doing something dreadful, or something dreadful happening to him, and I feel a little — crazy, I think you would say.”

“I’m familiar with the feeling. You’re worried and afraid, and there’s no way to get answers to your questions. Look, I think the best thing is to just keep doing what we’re doing, keep looking for hunt possibilities, keep in touch with Garth and the network. The whole hunter community knows Dean on sight. Something’ll turn up, I’m sure of it.”

Cas nodded heavily, not looking convinced. “All right, Sam. I suppose we don’t have any other choice.”

“Nope, not really. C’mon, let’s get something to eat. We could both use it.”

Neither of them was conscious of when it happened, but at some point, they found themselves almost entirely back into the old hunt routine; their search parameters for strange incidents expanded slowly, away from those that might have fit their search for Dean. First it was the occasional standard supernatural event, unexplained animal deaths or human disappearances, quick trips to interview witnesses, figure out what manner of beastie they were dealing with, dispatching the creature and then going back home.

Then Sam left one morning with a vague story about visiting Jody and didn’t come back for almost four days. When he came in, Cas could see the telltale signs of a major hunt: torn jacket sleeves, dark, streaked stains on his jeans, a general air of weariness. Sam wouldn’t quite meet Cas’ eyes, just brushed by him and disappeared into the bathroom. In the morning, when Sam came into the kitchen in search of coffee, Cas stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Hey, what’s going on? What’s up, Cas?”

Cas stared at him, scowling. “I want to know where you really went, what you found.” He sounded angry, but Sam could see a tiny tremble in his hands.

“Cas…. I’m sorry, but it was a hunt, a regular one. Garth let me know of a vamp nest near their place. I met up with Mom and we cleaned them out. I would have told you but I didn’t want you to think…” He trailed off and looked away.

“You didn’t want me to think you were giving up.” Cas’ voice sounded like a gravel road, rough and grating. Sam sighed.

“Yeah, Cas. And I’m not giving up, I promise. I just — there aren’t as many hunters around as there used to be, and Garth couldn’t find anybody, and it wasn’t that far.”

Cas nodded slowly. “I understand.” He wouldn’t look at Sam. “I can handle this by myself.”

“Ah, no, Cas, I’ll still be there, honest. But maybe it’s time to talk about — what happens next.”

Cas whirled on him. “I won’t give up on Dean. I won’t do it, Sam.”

“I know, and I won’t ask you to. I just think we need to be realistic.” He fell silent, and Cas didn’t respond. Neither of them voiced what they were thinking: that they were moving toward the part of their lives that wouldn’t have Dean in it.

Mary arrived at the bunker on Christmas Eve, at Sam’s request. None of them had the heart for a celebration, they were all so wrapped in their own thoughts. Being together helped a little, but it also underscored the empty chair at the table. When a case turned up the day after Christmas, Mary was on her feet and packing almost before Sam hung up the phone. At the door she hugged them both tightly, hanging on for a long moment, and left without looking back. They could see her wiping at her face.

Just after the first of the year, not long before the anniversary of Dean’s disappearance, Sam’s phone rang. Both Sam and Cas were hyper-aware of the date; although neither of them referred to it directly, they were both increasingly silent and depressed. They both started at the sound of the phone and stood looking at each other tensely. Finally, Sam shook his head and answered.

“_Hey, big guy, it’s Jody. How are ya?_” Jody’s cheery voice carried even without the speaker, and both men smiled at the sound.

“Okay, Jody. How are you guys?”

_“Oh well, seems like I see less and less of my girls as time goes on. Claire’s actually in school part-time now, not out on her own so much. Alex is working all the time and loving it. It’s kinda weird not having them home often, but they’re happy. That helps me sleep at night.”_ She chuckled warmly, and Sam smiled again.

“That’s good to hear. Toldja they’d get themselves figured out, with you in their corner.”

_“Yeah, you were right. We sure do miss you fellas. I’ve got a little time off coming and I was thinking I’d wander down your way if you’re not otherwise occupied. What do you think?”_

Sam cleared his throat, frowning down at the floor. “Uh, when were you thinking you’d get here?”

_“Well, Friday sometime if that’s okay. Is Cas there with you?”_

“Yeah, he’s here.” Sam glanced over at Cas. “We just got back from a trip a couple days ago, so we don’t have anything on the radar right now. Hang on a sec.” He held the phone to his chest; Cas looked at him questioningly.

“Jody wants to come for a visit, probably get here sometime Friday. Sounds like just for a few days. What do you think?”

Cas was nodding before Sam finished talking. “That sounds like an excellent idea, Sam. I… I’ve been thinking it might be nice to — I think some company would be a good thing right now.” He blinked rapidly and looked down at his hands.

Sam swallowed hard and then spoke into the phone again. “Yeah, Jody, that’d be great. We’ll, um, we’ll be glad to see you.”

There was a pause before Jody answered, in a softer voice this time. _“Me too, honey. I’ll call when I’m on the road. See you soon.”_

“Yeah, see you soon. And Jody?”

_“Yeah, Sam?”_

“...nothing. Just — thanks.”

_“You bet.”_ She clicked off, and Sam stood for a moment with the phone clutched in his hand. After a moment Cas spoke quietly.

“I’ll make sure the guest room’s ready. And we should probably make a grocery list. Can you do the shopping? I’m not sure what Jody would like.”

Sam nodded, unable to speak, overcome by a memory of sitting with Dean at Jody’s table, eating dinner and laughing. He didn’t look up as Cas left the room, patting his arm as he went by.

Jody arrived in the middle of a ferocious rainstorm; when she called, an hour out and worrying about the weather, Sam told her to pull around to the garage when she got there. He was standing inside when she appeared, smiling in greeting and then in surprise when Donna Hanscum hopped out of the passenger side of Jody’s truck.

“Howdy there, young fella! Miss me?” Donna was grinning from ear to ear, and Sam swept her up in a hug.

“God yes, what are you doing here? Jody didn’t tell me you were coming!” Sam tightened his arms around Donna and discovered he couldn’t let go. After a moment Donna frowned and patted him gently over and over, like he was a little kid.

“Hey now, hey, it’s all right, Sam. Come on, it’s gonna be okay, honey.” Sam huffed and swallowed, and stepped back, embarrassed.

“Sorry, I’m just — I’m really glad you’re here. Oh my god, Claire!” Claire slid out of the back seat, looking up at him with bright eyes.

“Hey, big bro. Alex has to work a double shift tonight and another one on the weekend, she wanted to come too and she said to tell you she’s sorry not to be here. She made a cake if you can believe it.” Claire hoisted the box she was carrying, and Sam gave her a wobbly smile.

“That’s so great, thank you. Thanks, you guys.” Sam turned away to wipe his eyes and lead them toward the door. “C’mon, Cas is in the kitchen, hot coffee coming up.” He didn’t see Donna and Jody exchange glances.

They followed him inside and down the hall, all talking at once, asking questions and not waiting for answers, chattering about the awful weather, filling the kitchen with happy noise. Cas turned from the stove when they came in, smiling broadly. Donna hugged him; Jody too, and stood with her hands still on his shoulders, peering closely into his eyes.

“You holding up all right?”

Cas nodding, his eyes shifting away. “Yes, mostly. It’s difficult, we, ah…” His voice broke, just a little, not enough for anyone else to notice, and Jody hugged him again, briefly.

“I get it, believe me. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tell you to buck up, think positive, everything’ll be okay, all that crap. I just want you to know that you don’t have to, y’know, pretend you’re okay, put on a good face for company. We’re family. We got you.”

For a second Cas looked as though he might break down; then he took a deep breath and gave her a lopsided smile.

“Thank you, Jody. I’m very glad you’re all here. Coffee’s ready, and Sam and I managed to make some stew if you’re hungry.”

“That sounds great. Gosh, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you cook, or Sam either for that matter.” She grinned at him, and he blushed, turning toward the table with his hands full of mugs.

“I’ve been learning a little recently. Preparing meals was always De—” He broke off, stumbling slightly. After another breath he went on. “Sam’s been teaching me a few things.”

Jody winced in sympathy and rested her hand on Cas’ arm for a second. “It smells wonderful, not to worry. Here, let me help.”

“So tell me the latest, Sam.” Jody poured a couple of after-dinner tumblers of Scotch and settled into the couch next to Sam, handing him one. Cas was showing Donna the search program Sam had set up, and she was exclaiming about how useful that would be at the sheriff’s department. Cas was beginning to look a little harried, and Sam grinned, gesturing toward them. Jody snorted.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think she’ll hurt him.”

“Maybe just talk him to death.”

“Yeah, she’s a chatty one. So what’s going on?” Jody fixed him with a steady gaze, and Sam made a face.

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

“Nope, ‘fraid not.” Jody winked, then her smile faded and her eyes grew serious. “Sam, please. Talk to me.”

Sam sighed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. After a moment he felt Jody’s hand rest gently on his knee. Sam dropped his hands from his face and took hers.

“I’m okay, Jody, I guess. For a long time I kept thinking over the next hill, y’know, the news would have a weird story in it and there he’d be, or he’d wake up one day and be himself again, call us and everything would be fine again. But lately, I…” His voice stopped on its own, and he clenched his teeth against the rising tears.

Jody sighed. “Lately you’ve had a hard time staying hopeful, and you’ve been thinking maybe it’s time to let go a little. That about right?”

Sam looked at her, remembering her terrible loss, the finality she’d had to accept and move on from, and that all her grief and pain had just made her kind. He gave her a crooked smile.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’ve been trying to, y’know, keep a lid on it. I haven’t said anything to Cas, I just don’t — I can’t hurt him like that.”

“Okay, first of all, you can’t keep that up and you know it. And in the second place, what do you mean, hurt Cas?”

Sam leaned back into the comfortable couch and gave her a half-smile. “Jody, I’ve got a story to tell you.”

The next day was cool and windy, but bright with sunshine and a cloudless sky. They spent most of the day outside, showing their guests the entrances to abandoned sections of the bunker, exploring the woods, hiking the trails to the creek and the open vistas. Dinner was pizza and a movie marathon, and a lot of laughter. A temporary reprieve, but both Sam and Cas found themselves smiling more than they had in weeks, maybe longer.

In the morning, Jody took over the kitchen and produced so many fluffy buttermilk pancakes that even Sam had to admit defeat. Their guests packed up to leave shortly after the meal was over; the drive to Sioux Falls would take most of the day. Sam hoisted their bags into the back of the truck, while Cas loaded them up with leftover muffins until Claire called a halt.

“If I eat all those I’ll explode, Cas. But thank you.” She smiled and hugged him. “Thanks for this, and for everything. It’s good to see you.” Cas blushed, and hugged her back tightly. When he pulled back, still pink in the face, Jody was standing close beside him, her eyes serious. She hugged him too, briefly, and held onto his arms, peering into his face.

“Cas, look. You know you’re family to us, right?” Cas nodded mutely, and Jody smiled into his eyes. “Good. I know this is hard, not knowing and waiting and all that. I just want you to know no matter what happens, we’re all here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone. Understand?”

Cas nodded again and managed a shaky smile. “Thank you, Jody. I appreciate that very much.”

She gave him a little shake and patted his arm. “Okay. We’ll talk to you soon. Thanks for a great visit. All right, let’s get this rolling party on the road!”

After the women left the anniversary came and went without either of them speaking of it. They were running down regular cases almost all the time now; only occasionally did something questionable pop up, or a hunter or Garth would call to check in. The truth was, it was a series of dead ends, false alarms, a trail gone cold. Cas grew more and more withdrawn, quiet, not exactly grumpy but distant, sad, turned inward. The only time Sam saw him anything like animated and engaged was when Claire called. That started happening a couple of times a week, suddenly and unexpectedly. Sam suspected Jody had something to do with that, but he didn’t ask. Truth be told, he was a little preoccupied, trying to make his own adjustment to this new, awful normal. He and Jody talked every couple of weeks — not even about cases, except for Jody’s stories about her work. Mostly easy conversations, sprinkled with her in-your-face ‘tell me what’s going on’ mothering style. To his surprise, he found it comforting.


	4. Chapter 4

Little by little, Dean’s nightmares increased, becoming more detailed and confusing. Violent, frightening, dark, filled with strange creatures that shifted from human form to something horrifying, and back again; dark figures from old myths suddenly become real. None of it seemed to be connected to his waking life, but somehow the dreams had a feeling of reality to them, almost familiarity. They regularly yanked him out of sleep, panting in terror; lying there wondering what was wrong with him kept him awake for hours. It got to the point that more mornings than not found him stumbling to the coffee shop for breakfast, and sleepwalking through the day, distracted and withdrawn.

He was trying to concentrate on reading the paper over eggs and homefries one morning when the coffee pot thumped down on his table, startling him. His eyes flew up to Rindy’s face.

“Ah man, sorry, Dean. Didn’t mean to scare you.” She made a face, and Dean tried to smile back at her.

“S’okay, I wasn’t paying attention. What’s up?”

She stood there for a moment, looking thoughtfully down at him. “Mind if I sit a minute?”

“Course not. Here, let me —” Dean rustled the paper together and folded it, leaving room for her to settle into the chair opposite him. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a quick smile, there and gone again. After a moment of silence, Dean raised an eyebrow questioningly, and she shook her head, smiling at herself.

“So okay. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while and it seemed like sort of a MYOB situation but you — It seems like you’re struggling, or having a hard time, or something’s on your mind. I can’t figure it out, and honestly it’s none of my business, I know that, but I wanted you to know if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, you know I’m — I just want to be your friend, and it feels like you might need one of those, that’s all.” The rush of words dried up abruptly, and Rindy let out a gust of breath and leaned back in her chair, cheeks pink. She gave Dean a half-smile. “You’re totally free to tell me to buzz off if you want.”

Dean looked a little stunned. “I — well, um.” He floundered, feeling his face heat, and scowled down at his plate.

“Ugh, me and my big mouth. Forget it, really, I’m sorry I bugged you. Let me know if there’s anything you need, okay?” Rindy started climbing to her feet, pushing away from the table, and Dean reached out with one shaking hand to stop her.

“Please don’t. Please don’t go.” To both their surprise, his voice was shaking. Rindy sank bank into her seat, eyes wide. Dean swallowed hard.

“Sorry. And thanks for, I dunno, being concerned, I guess. I’m okay, really, just had a bad dream last night and couldn’t —”

“Oh no, uh-uh, that ain’t it, my friend.” Dean looked up to see Rindy smiling sardonically at him. “This has been happening more often than not for quite a while. You used to come in early for breakfast maybe once every couple of weeks. Now it’s every other morning, maybe more. And you look like hell, seriously. Are you getting any rest?”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Wow, just what I need, another mother.” A sudden flash in his head, a smiling blonde woman, and then nothing. He shook his head sharply.

“What was that? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m — yeah, I’ll be okay. I know you’re busy.”

Rindy looked around at the nearly empty cafe, and back at him. “Seriously? I got nuthin’ but time, pal. Lay it on me.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words, and he smiled gratefully.

“Okay. Um, not sure where to start here.” Dean cleared his throat and took a gulp of nearly-cold coffee, making a face. “So. I told you a little bit before about me, right?”

“Not really, just that you’d had — a head injury, I think it was? Caused amnesia or something like that. You didn’t really know much about your past.”

“Right. The truth is, though, I don’t really know what happened to me. I mean, the part about not remembering family or where I’m from or who I am, that’s true. And I’m pretty sure I didn’t hit my head or anything. Just — everything before last year is a complete blank.” He glanced over at Rindy; she was focused completely on him, listening to every word, her face still and serious. Dean swallowed and cleared his throat.

“Anyway, lately I’ve been having — nightmares for sure and just dreams too. Not real scary, just sort of dark and — confusing, mostly. It’s like I’m —” He trailed off.

“Like you’re remembering things maybe? Bits and pieces?”

“Yeah, maybe, I dunno. The dreams started happening before I even got here, but they were just shadows, weird flashes, noises I didn’t understand, feelings — being scared out of my wits, mostly, but not knowing why. Just now I said something about another mother?” Rindy nodded, frowning. “I got a brief sort of flash of a woman’s face. She looked so familiar, but I don’t know who she is.” He sighed and looked down at the table, toyed with his fork and waiting for the ache in his chest to subside.

Rindy spoke softly. “D’you think it could have been your mother?”

“Yeah, she might be. I mean, it makes sense, I mentioned ‘mother’ and saw her face all of a sudden, it must be, right? But I don’t remember!” There was a roaring in Dean’s ears, and it wasn’t until he noticed the shocked look on Rindy’s face that realized he had shouted the last few words. He covered his face with one hand, rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to — sorry, Rindy.”

“No worries. If you don’t mind my asking, what else do you remember? What else do you see in these flashbacks or whatever they are?”

Dean leaned back and frowned, thinking. “Huh. Yeah, sort of. I saw — A weird sort of room, like a war room or something. A big black car. A, a guy with — this is gonna sound weird, he had light coming out of his eyes and his mouth.” Rindy squinted at him, and he smiled sheepishly. “I know, I know. Keep in mind these are all dreams, I’m not responsible for how crazy they sound.”

She grinned at him. “Anything else? Anybody that seemed, I dunno, familiar? Like that woman?”

“Uh — yeah, sort of. I kept hearing somebody’s voice, this kinda gravelly voice, saying a name over and over, _Sam! Sam!_ He kept saying it.”

“You know that name? I mean, a person named Sam?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t remember, remember?” She made a face at him, and he smiled lopsidedly. “I just keep hearing it. I don’t know who Sam might be, but his name sure comes up a lot. It must mean something, right?”

Rindy spread her hands, looking at him sympathetically. “I’m sure it does. Who’s the guy with the gravelly voice? You see his face at all?”

Dean opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again. He squirmed in his seat, took a breath, shook his head. Rindy watched these antics for a few minutes and then snorted.

“Wow, little antsy there, bud. This somebody special, or what?”

Dean could feel his face heat up, and he frowned at her to cover it up. “Hey. Nobody said —”

“No, sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t tease you.” Rindy did look sorry, and Dean relaxed and attempted a smile.

“I don’t think I swing that way, that’s all.” Dean frowned a little, hearing his own voice. It felt like he was telling a white lie, some little fib to cover up something important. He stilled, staring unseeing, following the little voice in his head: _...weird, dorky, little guy...army of Angels…_

“Dean?” He sucked in a sharp breath; his eyes jerked to her, and he stared wide-eyed, gasping a little. Rindy leaned toward him, her face serious and concerned. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean took a couple more breaths. “I had another flashback, I guess. I think — I do know that guy, I think. He was —”

“Somebody special?” Rindy looked at him kindly, her voice soft, and all the defensiveness went out of Dean all at once, as though he had decided suddenly just to quit fighting it.

“Yeah, I think so. _I don’t know!_” Frustrated, Dean thumped the side of his head, grabbed a fistful of hair, tugged at it as though that would break the logjam. “I can’t even tell you how much I hate this. I can’t remember my _own life!_” He squeezed his eyes shut, propped his forehead on the heels of his hands. After a moment he felt Rindy’s hand squeeze one elbow, just for a second.

“I can’t imagine how frustrating this is, Dean. I’m sorry this is happening.” Rindy spoke quietly, calmly. Strangely, it helped Dean breathe a little easier, his pulse beginning to slow. “But maybe talking about this, thinking about what you’ve seen in your dreams is helping you remember. Do you think?”

Dean raised his head, nodding slowly. “Yeah, you might be right.” He managed a smile. “Maybe I should keep doing this, huh? You free for the next few months?”

She laughed as she pushed to her feet, one hand lifting the coffee pot. “Maybe I should hang out a shingle, eh?” Her smile faded as she looked at him. “Seriously, Dean, any time you feel like talking, I’m more than willing to listen. Or maybe find somebody professional to talk to?” Dean made a sour face, and she grinned. “Or maybe just, y’know, write down what you remember. I used to have a little book on my bedside table, and I’d write my dreams down as soon as I woke up, when they were fresh in my mind. You could do that, maybe.”

Dean hmmmed, head tilting as he thought it over. “Yeah, that’s not a bad idea. Might help me remember more.”

Rindy nodded. “Yep. That’s how it works sometimes.” She glanced up at the clock. “Hey, aren’t you about to be late to work?”

“Oh shit, I gotta jet. Has it stopped raining? It was really coming down earlier.” Dean peered out the window. The rain had slacked off and the sky was showing signs of clearing. He got to his feet and headed for the door, then stopped to look back. “Hey, thanks, Rindy. You’re a good friend.”

“You’re damn right I am. See ya later, grease monkey.” She winked at him, and Dean laughed as he pulled the door shut behind him.

Dean awoke with a start, hearing his own voice yelling, _Sam! Get down!_ He was sitting up reaching for the lamp before he was fully conscious, his shout still ringing in his ears. He sat in the small pool of light, sheets around his waist, panting and feeling the night air cooling his damp skin. Moving slowly, he reached for the notebook and pen sitting on the bedside table, opening to a blank page and writing down the date. He sat for a moment with his eyes closed, not trying to remember, just breathing as calmly as he could and willing himself to relax. Finally, he started to write, slowly at first and then picking up speed.

_I’m in a dark place, Looks like a stage? There’s a play going on? Can hear the voices saying their lines, doesn’t make any sense. Big tall guy on the other side of the stage, can’t see him very well but I think I know him? Weird tree-looking thing behind him only it’s not a tree it’s grabbing for him SAM GET DOWN!! He ducks and I, there’s a gun in my hand?? And I —_

Dean lifted the pen and sat looking down at the notebook — no more images in his head, It just stopped like the film broke, the movie stopped. He sat for a moment with his eyes closed again, breathing quietly, waiting for more. Nothing. He leaned back against the pillows, gazing unseeing at the opposite wall. He couldn’t help feeling hopeless; his whole life was hiding in the shadows, just out of reach. He was starting to wonder if he’d ever have more than these tiny pieces of the puzzle, never enough to make a coherent picture. He yawned and rubbed at his face. Still dark outside, maybe he could get a couple more hours of sleep. Switching off the light, he slid down into the bed, pulling the blankets up to his ears and curling around the pillow, blinking sleepily. Another image floated across his consciousness, one that was starting to become familiar because he’d dreamed it so many times: a man shape, mostly in shadow, only outlines visible. A long coat, dark suit, a head of rumpled dark hair. All he could see of the face were a pair of wide blue eyes, staring straight at him, into him. It should have been intimidating, but somehow it felt comfortable, warm. As though the guy knew the real Dean, and he was safe. Dean relaxed into the bed, looking back at the man in his mind until he was asleep.

Dean pushed the coffee shop door open. It was still mostly dark outside; he squinted at the bright lights. Rindy looked up from the display case and raised a hand.

“Hey, morning glory. Another short night, eh?”

Dean shrugged and sat down at the counter. “Yeah, I guess. Bad dream in the middle of the night. I managed to sleep a little more, but then I woke up hungry.”

“Sounds like a breakfast order to me. What’ll it be?” Rindy smiled.

“Hmm… Dave said you were thinking about doing some different stuff for breakfast. Surprise me.”

Rindy’s eyes lit up. “You got it, my friend. You won’t be disappointed. Here, have some java while you wait, my first experiment is just coming out of the oven. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Experiment?” Dean ventured.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t steered you wrong yet. I had this in a little place in Mexico on our vacation last year. It was awesome, don’t fret.” She pulled a casserole pan out of the oven and fussed over it for a few minutes, then set his plate down in front of him with a flourish. “There you are! Dig in.”

“Wow.” Dean peered down at the steaming plate in front of him. “It looks like an enchilada and a tamale got in a fight.” He poked at it with his fork. “What’s in it?”

“Oh for god’s sake, what a baby.” Rindy smirked at him. “It’s chilaquiles. Old Mexican housewives’ way of using up leftovers. There’s tortillas and beans and cheese and peppers and salsa verde and all kinds of stuff, and an egg on top. C’mon, try it, I need a review before I spring it on paying customers.”

“I’m not paying?” Dean grinned.

“Nope. You’re my guinea pig, it wouldn’t be right.”

“Ah. Okay then.” Dean dug in, shoveling a big bite into his mouth. He chewed a few times and then met Rindy’s eyes, smiling around the mouthful. “Hey, this is good! Wow, it’s just spicy enough, not too much. Oooh, the beans are really good. Wow, this is great, Rindy!”

Rindy clapped her hands and grinned happily. “Yeah! I was getting tired of all those omelets and breakfast sandwiches. I’m putting this on the menu.”

Dean smiled and nodded, too busy enjoying himself to answer. Finally, he scraped his fork over the plate, gathering up the last of the sour cream and tomatoes and swallowing it down. He smiled at Rindy and lifted his mug. She poured another round of coffee for him, and one for herself. They sipped companionably for a few minutes. Rindy set down her cup and looked at him thoughtfully.

“I know you said you woke up early this morning, but you don’t seem quite as — I dunno, out of sorts as you sometimes do when you’ve had a bad dream.”

Dean hmmed and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right, I guess I do feel a little steadier than I usually do. Huh.” He took another gulp of coffee.

Rindy watched him over the rim of her mug. “So… any idea why? Was your dream different? You woke up from a dream, right?”

“Yeah, I did. Y’know what, it was one of those dreams where I woke myself up yelling, but then I went back to sleep for a little while. That doesn’t usually happen.”

“That does sound different. Did you write it down? The dream, I mean?”

Dean nodded, pulling the little notebook out of his pocket. “I’ve been doing that since you suggested it, and it’s helping me remember things. It was, hmmm…” He looked down at his scribbled notes. “It was odd, kind of like I’d dropped in the middle of the story and there was a lot going on. I was standing on the edge of a stage —”

“A stage? Like, a theater stage?”

“Yeah, weird, right? And on the other side there was this tall guy, couldn’t see him very well, and then this tree-thing, it looked like a tree except it was moving like a person, coming toward this guy from behind, and I yelled at him to get down.”

Rindy frowned. “You yelled — you mean you yelled his name? You knew his name?”

Dean nodded slowly. “I guess I must have known it, I yelled, _get down, Sam!_ And he did, and that’s about when I woke up but I think in the dream I had a, a pistol or something in my hand, I thought I was about to fire it or something.” He glanced at the notebook again. “That’s it, that was all I could remember of the dream. Pretty vivid.”

Rindy tilted her head at him. “I’ll say. That almost sounded like a memory, not a dream.”

Dean sighed. “I guess so.” He looked again at the page he’d written on — there were a few scribbled words under the notes about the dream. He couldn’t make it out very well, his own handwriting for god’s sake. All he could read were two words: _blue eyes_. As soon as he recognized those words he remembered, the dark-haired man looking at him, the sense of being seen and understood and — cared for. As though this person, whoever he was, knew him well and loved him. His face softened, he could feel his mouth turning up slightly. He felt warm all over. He started at the sound of Rindy’s chuckle.

“Wow. You just remembered something else, didn’t you?” She was smiling gently, her eyes kind. “Something about this Sam?”

Dean could feel the same shy little smile on his face. “N-no, it was somebody — somebody else, I think. I was going back to sleep after I wrote the dream down, just lying there getting sleepy, and I could see this guy in my head. He was kinda tall, I think, I couldn’t see much of him because it was dark in the memory, but he was wearing this long coat, and he was looking at me like —” Blushing, Dean stopped talking, dropped his eyes, took another swallow of coffee and tried very hard not to choke on it. He looked up when Rindy patted his hand. She looked a little misty.

“You big softie, you were sweet on him, whoever he is.”

“No, I’m not — I don’t —”

Rindy rolled her eyes. “Bisexuality, big guy. It’s a thing.” She laughed at his scowl. “C’mon, Dean, there’s nothing wrong with that. Hell, I’ve got a girlfriend, but I’m not completely blind to manly charms.” He sputtered, and she winked, laughing at him again. Finally, her face sobered, and she leaned forward, covering one of his hands with hers.

“Listen, honey. I don’t know what went on with this guy, who he was to you, if he’s even real. But I saw the look on your face, I heard your voice when you were describing him. We love who we love, and it’s a great gift, so don’t turn away because you’ve got some crazy thought in your head that you can’t be ‘that way’.”

Dean sighed again. “I don’t know, Rindy. I just wish I had more of a handle on what happened to me, who the hell I am. I want to know what life I left behind me, and some days I feel like I’m never gonna get that back.”

Rindy squeezed his hand. “You’ll figure it out, my friend. I have a feeling that whoever you are, you’re not the kinda guy that gives up easily. Give yourself a break, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, lady. I better get up the hill or Dave’ll come down here looking for me.” He smiled as he got up, tipping an imaginary hat. “Thanks for everything, and for sure put that stuff on the menu. That was awesome.”

“You bet, that’s my plan. Oh and hey, keep your eyes open going up the hill. It’s not really light out yet, and I’ve been hearing stories about some kinda varmint killing people’s dogs and so forth. There was a bunch of teenagers coming up from the beach a couple nights ago, and they told the sheriff they were being followed. They couldn’t quite see what or who it was, said they thought it was some guy until they heard growling.”

“Holy shit.” Dean stared at her. “Are you kidding?”

“Well, there’s no telling what altered state they were in, so who knows what they saw. But they were plenty spooked. Here, let me get the coffee for you guys.” She turned and rattled around gathering cups and pouring coffee. Dean stood at the counter frowning down at his hands.

Rindy handed him the cup carrier and smiled. “Go on, Dave’ll be wanting his brew. Just stay alert, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, I will, thanks. See ya later.” Dean nodded to her and was moving toward the door when a commotion on the street caught his attention. He peered out the front window in time to see a large black car, almost limousine-sized, roll slowly by in the direction of the beach. It made the turn at the pub across the street and disappeared from sight. A few people were gathered along the street, murmuring together and looking in the direction it had gone.

Dean glanced at Rindy, wiping tables along the front windows. “What was that all about?”

“What, that big car?” Dean nodded, and Rindy slanted a grin. “Probably our local celebrity visiting. You don’t know about him, do you?” Dean shook his head.

Rindy tossed her rag into the busboy’s tub. “Well, it’s a local boy makes good story. Carter Washburn, he’s an actor, kinda flavor-of-the-month famous, I guess you’d say. I forget the show he’s in, something popular. He’s a good-looking guy, mid-late 20s I think? Went to Hollywood a few years ago to be an actor and get famous.”

“He grew up here?”

Rindy nodded. “Born and raised on the coast, went to college in Portland and got bit by the acting bug. He’s had a house here for several years, comes back home when he can. I think his folks live up in Cannon Beach. He bought them a big house but always said he liked living here. Looks like he’s taking a vacation or something.”

“Huh. Where’s he live?”

Rindy smirked at him. “Well, you should know that most folks around here pretend they don’t know who he is or anything about him. We like to take care of our own, y’know?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Dean looked away, feeling awkward, but Rindy patted his arm.

“You’re local now too, pal. He actually lives over on Portland Avenue, right behind you. Nice house, nothing fancy. You’ve probably walked right past it. Two-story, brick driveway, wood-shake siding? Big flagstone front walk.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. I promise I won’t bother him.” He winked, and she laughed at him.

“Good job. Hey, get outta here so I can finish cleaning up. Have a great day, okay? Remember what I said.” She opened the door for him, and he smiled gratefully as he slipped out.

“Yeah, I will, thanks. See ya later.” Dean nodded to her and headed out.

Sleep was still hard to come by some nights, and tonight was no different, maybe a little worse than usual. The conversation with Rindy was welcome, but it set off a lot of strange, fragmented flashbacks, not only visual memories but the emotions attached to them. Finally, sometime after midnight, Dean threw the quilt off of him, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a worn-thin Henley and shuffled into his shoes. At least it wasn’t raining.

Dean pushed through his front gate and stood in the grass for a moment, listening to the night sounds. This late, there weren’t any car sounds, no night-life noises, no music or car doors or loud voices. He could hear an occasional owl, his neighbor’s cat rustling in the shrubs, and the soft, continuous shushing sounds from the waves, less than a block away. He ambled slowly in that direction, breathing deeply and feeling his shoulders drop incrementally. He heard the occasional rattle of a pebble kicked by his feet, and kept walking, looking up at the half-moon above the water. There was enough light to see the tops of the breaking waves, brilliant and glowing white. When he got to the end of his street, Dean crossed the frontage road and moved into the scrubby grass just above the beach, kicking off his shoes and wriggling his toes into the cool sand. He stood for a long time, feet completely covered and hands in pockets, watching the restless water, hearing the thump and hiss of the breakers, the soft splashing as the water ran up onto the sand and then reversed back down into the darkness. It was peaceful, relaxing; he could feel the noise in his head dying down. For once, his mind wasn’t chewing on all the questions, the yawning empty space before the last several months. He was here, calm and empty of thought, ready for whatever might come along. Maybe he should take a walk every night before bed, he thought as he turned back toward the darkened houses and quiet streets. He actually felt like sleeping.

Dean started back up his street, past the corner house. The owners were full-time residents, and privately Dean thought their place was one of the nicest on the street. They kept the garden up, unlike the many summer cabins; it looked homey and pleasant. He nodded to the man, out in the yard with his little dogs. One last trip before bedtime, apparently. He smiled to himself and found himself wondering about having a dog around. _Sounds like you’re settling down, old man,_ he chuckled to himself. Yeah, pretty domesticated, but it might be nice, sharing his house with another living thing; maybe not so lonely.

Dean sighed, and looked up at an odd sound. He stopped walking; when it came again he realized it was on the next street over, Portland Avenue. Another couple of houses up there was a grassy path through the trees between houses, and Dean turned left onto it. He heard the sound again; this time it sounded like a garbage can falling over, and a person’s voice, not screaming or anything, just a semi-loud _hey!_ as though someone was trying to yell without disturbing anyone. It came again, and Dean quickened his pace. Now that he was closer he could hear something that sounded like an animal growling. Heart pounding, he hustled toward the street, seeing a house light coming into view. Just as he came out of the trees he heard the man’s voice again, this time screaming, and Dean broke into a run.

The noise was coming from a house off to his right; he could see someone in the sloped driveway struggling with another person — or something. The only light on the street was behind Dean now, and he couldn’t quite see — the two figures were face-to-face wrestling, both yelling and growling, but the one with his back to Dean looked like — It looked like a huge dog, up on its hind legs with its front paws on the man’s chest. The guy’s face was white and bleeding, one arm too, his clothes were torn in several places. The — whatever it was snapped again, and the man cried out; and at that moment saw Dean coming up the street.

“Help me! Hey!” His face was a mask of terror, and Dean put on a burst of speed. He had just enough time to see the creature’s face turn toward him, hairy and gray, furnace-yellow eyes and fangs, for god’s sake, snarling viciously — impossibly long and narrow muzzle, saliva dripping from its teeth, _what is happening here!!_ — Without thinking, Dean landed a sharp punch into its throat; it choked, gurgled, trying to pull away. In one smooth motion, Dean bent down, picked up a large rock from the side of the driveway, and with all his strength crashed it hard into the side of its head. It jerked convulsively and collapsed in a heap.

All the ruckus stopped; the other man fell away from Dean onto the grass alongside the driveway, groaning and panting like a bellows. Dean staggered backward, unbalanced by the driveway’s incline, and the movement triggered the light over the garage door. He managed to stay on his feet, grabbing the retaining wall for balance and sucking in air. He looked across to the other man, still in a heap in the grass.

“Hey, you okay? You hurt?” Dean pulled himself up the driveway and onto the grass, kneeling down. “You’re bleeding, looks like. Where’d it get you?”

“I — god, what was that?? I dunno, I’m scratched up, hit my head but I don’t think it’s too bad. It was trying to bite me! What the hell was it??”

Dean took a breath to answer but was interrupted by the next-door neighbor’s light coming on and the front door banging open. “Hey, what’s going on out here? Carter, you all right?”

Dean glanced over at him. “We need an ambulance, and cops too, I think! Hurry, he’s bleeding!”

For some reason, the neighbor stood hesitantly, instead of running inside for the phone. “Carter, that what you want?”

Dean stared openmouthed, but the man beside him — Carter, apparently — nodded affirmatively. “Yeah, Andy, please, make the call. It’ll be all right.” The guy disappeared inside, and Carter looked up at Dean with a rueful smile.

“Hi, I’m Carter. Thanks for saving my ass.”

Dean nodded. “Uh, yeah, you’re welcome. I’m Dean.”

“Glad to meet you, Dean, believe me. How’d you get here so fast?”

Dean pointed vaguely toward the woods across the road. “I live a block over, couldn’t sleep and I was just outside getting some fresh air when I heard the noise. What the hell happened?”

The injured man was struggling to get up, and Dean hoisted him by one arm. “I came out with my dog — oh shit, hey Ralph! Ralph, where are you, boy?” A whine sounded from the front porch, and a little brown and white spaniel crept down the steps and came to huddle against Carter. “Oh thank god, you scared, buddy? It’s all right.” He patted the trembling dog comfortingly and gave Dean a shaky smile. “I heard Ralph yelp and saw this — I thought it was a big dog or maybe a coyote at first, and I yelled and threw something at it. It backed off, I thought it was running off and I leaned down to pick Ralph up, and then something hit me from behind. I went to my knees and managed to get back up, and I turned around and he — it — grabbed me. It was dark, didn’t have the porch light on, I couldn’t really see, but —” Carter stopped talking and looked over at Dean, mouth shut tight. Dean looked back at him warily.

“Don’t ask me, I couldn’t see it either. But I’m pretty sure —” he broke off as he looked down at the body.

Or rather, at where the body should have been. The grass was trampled and ripped up, the underlying soil visible in several places; there were a few splashes of blood and a couple of shreds of Carter’s shirt, and nothing more. Dean moved closer and knelt down, peering at the grass and the driveway below. He could see smudges of dirt and a mixture of grass and clover in smears across the pavement, as though something had dragged itself off. The marks disappeared into the shadows alongside the house.

“It’s gone.” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, and he turned to look at Carter. “Did you see —”

At that moment a police car, lights flashing and followed closely by an ambulance, came skidding around the sharp turn and came to a halt in front of the house. Dean looked into Carter’s eyes for a second, and saw the same question that was in his own mind: _what the hell was that, and where is it now??_ In the whirl of activity that followed, the chaos of paramedic attention and law enforcement questions that continued till dawn, Dean wouldn’t have time to wrestle with the mystery until much later.

Just as the sky was lightening and people were coming out of their houses to see what the fuss was about, a TV truck set up in front of the house. The reporter moved toward Carter, bandaged and disheveled but on his feet and smiling. They were chatting while the lights were being set up and the camera operator got into position. Carter, still talking, looked around him with a puzzled frown on his face, and Dean realized he was looking for him, Dean, his rescuer, the hero of the day. Something made him take a step back, shift to the side so he was mostly hidden by one of the gawkers. Ralph yipped excitedly, looking straight at Dean, tail wagging happily; Dean moved again, a couple of steps further away and behind a few more onlookers. The dog lost interest, and Dean stayed where he was, watching the interview.


	5. Chapter 5

When the story they’d been waiting for finally popped up in Sam’s search, it was in the middle of an ordinary day, so much a part of their routine that Sam almost missed it.

Spring came early, after a winter that matched their dreary, miserable moods. The mornings were mild enough that Sam had taken to starting his day on the roof with his coffee and yogurt, listening to the birds and enjoying the fresh scent of the new season while he scanned the reports his search parameters had turned up. He had just pulled up the state news section of the next one in line, The Oregonian in Portland, when the door made its usual metallic screech as Cas pushed it open.

“Morning, Cas. Did you sleep?”

“A little.” Cas looked even more rumpled than usual. He’d taken to wearing a pair of sleep pants and an old band t-shirt of Dean’s at night, on the theory that dressing for bed would help him actually rest. The results had been mixed so far.

Sam smiled, his eyes skimming over the headlines as he scrolled through the summary page. “Yeah, I did a little better last night. I went for a run yesterday, I think that —” He paused, his fingers frozen in position.

“Sam? Are you all right?” No answer. Sam ran his index finger along the trackpad and clicked on a story, enlarging it, frowning down at the text.

“Sam? What is it?” Cas started toward him, and then stopped in his tracks as Sam looked up at him. “Sam?”

“Cas, you have to see this. Come here.” Sam moved the laptop slightly to position it between the two chairs as Cas sat down. “See this story?”

Cas read silently, a look of intense concentration growing on his face. After a moment he leaned back a little.

“It certainly sounds like it could be something a hunter would be interested in.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, it does. Hang on, there’s a video…” He clicked on the play button, and Cas read the attached headline: A strange story out of Manzanita - Hollywood actor injured in possible coyote attack, rescued by local man.

They exchanged a look — a coyote? — and then Sam leaned forward sharply.

“Cas, oh my god! Look — wait, let me…” He fumbled to enlarge the video even more, and pointed, finger jabbing at the screen. “Look, there in the background on the left there, across the street — see that guy??” He pointed again, at the slightly out of focus figure of a man standing with his hands in his pockets, partly blocked by another onlooker as though he were trying to hide — and Cas went white. For a second neither of them breathed, just stared at each other; then Cas spoke.

“It’s him. Sam, that’s Dean.” They locked eyes, neither one breathing, and then both scrambled for a map, the video playing unheeded in the background.

“It was pretty strange. It was late, around midnight I guess, and I was getting something out of my car and heard a lot of noise all of a sudden in the bushes in front of the house. I started moving around that way and all of a sudden I heard my dog barking and growling, and another animal snarling too. Sounded like a pretty rough fight, I started running and calling for Ralph.”

“What was it, another dog?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I didn’t have the outside light on, just light from my windows, and I couldn’t see it clearly. Just some critter going after my little guy. I yelled and picked up a rock, threw it at the other dog, whatever. Hit him too, and he turned toward me — I saw that he was, I don’t know, this sounds crazy but he looked like a dog or wolf, something like that, except he was sort of — standing up, fighting with Ralph like that.”

“You mean — like a human would?”

“I’m not — like I said, it was dark, I couldn’t really tell what I was seeing. Ralph was screaming like he was hurt, and this — creature turned toward me and sort of leaped, and before I knew it he was on me. He was snarling and snapping at me, and I was trying to fend him off and thinking I was gonna die.

“And then out of nowhere this guy came charging up the street and tackled us both, we were rolling on the ground and it was off me. I jumped up, and the guy got up on his feet and this dog or whatever was snarling at both of us, and then it came after me again. This guy yelled something at me, like _push it away!_ or something, and I kicked it and it backed up, and then —”

“Then what, Mr. Washburn? What happened?”

“Then the guy punched it a couple of times, and down it went. I swear to god, that’s what happened.”

~~~~

Cas was all for jumping into the car that minute, but Sam managed to talk him into making a plan first.

“I know, I want to get there too, believe me. But I’d really like to do a little research first, Cas. Maybe we can figure out what this critter is, and maybe a little more on this town, what Dean’s doing there. The news story had a little info, maybe we can get more background.”

“Sam, it’s Dean. We don’t need to know more than that.” Cas was actually pacing, long strides up and down the room, scowling at the floor. Sam kept turning, following his progress and trying to keep his face in view. Finally, he reached out and took hold of Cas’ arm as he passed, stopping him in his tracks.

“Hey, come on, my friend, take a breath. Here, sit down and let’s talk about this.”

Cas sighed and dropped into a chair; he rubbed his hands over his face. “I apologize, Sam. I’m just so — I can’t seem to slow my mind down.” He looked over at Sam, his face so piteous Sam’s laugh died in his throat.

“I know, I know. It’s gonna be okay, I promise. I just want us to think this through. For one thing, it looked to me like Dean was sort of standing back, trying to stay out of the limelight, y’know? Like he didn’t want anybody to see him, or put him in the middle of this. Don’t you think?”

Cam hmmmed thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, he did appear to be hanging back almost out of view. I noticed when the man they were interviewing was talking about the man who saved him he was looking around, and Dean stepped behind someone else, as though he were hiding.”

Sam nodded. “Exactly. I’m thinking he still doesn’t remember who he is. If he did he’d be acting differently, I think. We might have better luck coming to town for another reason besides looking for him. Maybe an FBI investigation. What do you think?”

After a moment Cas straightened up and looked over at Sam. “All right. In the interest of time I think we should fly out as close as we can get, Portland I suppose, and then get a car and drive to this town. Manzanita?” Sam nodded, and Cas plowed on. “We can talk strategy on the way, let’s just get there.”

Sam smiled grimly and gave him a sharp nod. “My thoughts exactly. I’ll arrange the tickets, you start getting us packed.” Cas turned away and headed down the hall as Sam punched up a travel site on his laptop.

~~~~

The rising sun had cleared the trees and filled the street with light by the time Dean finally stumbled back into his little house. Thankfully, his interview with the detective consisted mostly of confirming Carter’s account; neither of them had gotten a very good look at what they were fighting. The detective, Harrington, asked both of them if they’d ever seen anything around the neighborhood going after housecats or following people late at night. Dean remembered the stories people had been passing around about the strange animal activity over the last several weeks. He couldn’t help thinking that maybe he’d inadvertently solving the problem once and for all.

At least as far as local cats were concerned. Dean still wasn’t sure what he’d saved them from. He’d waited until the ambulance had rolled off with Carter inside to tell Harrington the last bit, something he wasn’t willing to share openly. While the aid crew was examining Carter and the first cop on the scene was asking questions, Dean slipped away to follow the faint trail of flattened grass and blood streaks. It led between Carter’s house and Andy’s, along a stone pathway into the heavy bushes and trees at the back of the property. The light of dawn hadn’t penetrated the shadows yet, and Dean stumbled in near-darkness for several yards — until he nearly fell over a long, furry body lying across the narrow trail. Its head lay at an awkward angle; its eyes were half-shut, still a fierce yellow. Its lips were rolled up to reveal the fangs, clenched in a snarl. At first glance, Dean thought his original impression of a large coyote was correct. But the head was too large, the body itself more than six feet long, and the front feet, even covered with fur and tipped with claws, looked more human than canine. More like hands.

Dean shivered, feeling the hair stand up on the back of his neck. His hands were shaking, and he spun around so quickly he nearly went down. He stumbled into a run, putting as much distance between him and — whatever that was as he could. By the time he made his way back to Carter’s place, Detective Harrington had arrived. Carter’s neighbor Andy pointed him out to Harrington, and instead of speaking, Dean jerked his head aside, trying to indicate his desire for privacy. It was only when he and the detective were out of earshot of everyone else that Dean told him what he’d found and where it was. He declined the invitation to accompany Harrington and another officer into the woods again.

Now that Dean was home, his stomach reminded him firmly that breakfast time had come and gone. He washed up and decided to see if he could talk Rindy into cooking a late breakfast for him.

She must have been keeping a lookout. The coffee shop door had barely closed behind him before Rindy confronted him, her eyes full of concern.

“Hey buddy, are you okay? You’re not hurt?”

“Nah.” Dean shook his head and tried to smile. “Guy never laid a glove on me.”

“It was a person, then? Some guy jumped Carter?” Rindy gestured to an empty seat at the counter.

Dean settled into it and fiddled with the menu, trying to decide what to tell her. “I — to tell you the truth, I think it was an animal of some kind, but I didn’t really get a good look. It was dark, y’know, it was midnight or so.” He took a gulp of coffee, not meeting Rindy’s eyes.

She watched him for a long moment. “Well. Okay then. Carter’s all right?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Dean glanced up quickly and then back down at the menu. “Uh, I was up all night talking to cops and so on, and —”

“You haven’t had breakfast. Coming right up.” Rindy smiled kindly and hurried off.

Usually Rindy was a more or less constant presence during Dean’s meals, peppering him with questions and jokes, chatting steadily. This morning, though, she made sure his mug was filled and he had plenty of Tabasco for his eggs, and said almost nothing. She patted his shoulder, smiled at him and left him in peace. She shook her head sternly when he reached for his wallet and waved him out the door.

Dean slowly made his way up the hill to the shop, hoping they wouldn’t be too busy. He hated to think of trying to concentrate on work after last night. But the first thing Dave did when he saw Dean was turn him around and send him home, _and don’t come back till tomorrow!_ By the time Dean got there, he saw the point: he was yawning nonstop. He took a minute to pull his boots off and unbuckle his belt, and stretched out on the couch.

To Dean’s surprise, it was nearly dark when he opened his eyes again. He lay still for several minutes, completely relaxed, looking out the front window, watching the trees moving gently in the breeze off the water. His mind wandered aimlessly, not really thinking about anything; meandering over the last few days, half-awake, at ease. Thinking about walking through the woods, hearing Carter’s shout and animal snarling; that memory blending in with something else, a similar memory, struggling with another strange creature, hearing the voices of other people fighting alongside him. His eyes drifted closed again, hearing his own voice in his mind, _Sam, behind you! Look out, Cas!_ He saw himself, turning to look at two men, one tall and shaggy-haired, the other with dark hair, blue eyes… Dean jerked awake, blinking at the quiet room around him. He struggled to a sitting position, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head. _Those aren’t dreams, they’re memories. I’m remembering_. He sighed, looking down at his hands, suddenly unfamiliar. _Who am I?_

~~~~

Both Sam and Cas were on their feet the instant the aircraft stopped moving. Sam popped the latch on the overhead compartment and hauled out their small duffels; Cas slung the laptop bag’s strap over his shoulder and headed for the front of the plan, Sam right behind him. In the gate area Cas paused, frowning, and Sam nudged him from behind.

“Already got a car reserved, we just have to go to the lot. This way.” Sam jerked his head toward the corridor. Fifteen minutes later they were dumping their luggage in the back of a small SUV. In the process of starting it and firing up the GPS, Sam glanced over at Cas, who was watching him tensely and sweating a little.

“You wanna drive?” Cas started and threw Sam a look that could only be described as terrified.

“Uh… I certainly can if you’re tired, Sam.” The look in Cas’ eyes said exactly the opposite, and Sam smiled.

“No worries, I got this. Let’s get on the road.”

Sam had booked them on the earliest flight from Omaha, the only direct flight to Portland. That meant a three-plus hour drive to get to the airport on time; between packing, phone calls to Jody for help contacting local law enforcement, and general fretting neither of them could get so much as a cat-nap before time to leave. Sam put in his earbuds and managed to sleep for an hour or so on the plane, but Cas was too agitated even to relax. They were both exhausted by the time they touched down.

Portland mid-day traffic added another hour or more to their driving time. Sam, starving after little breakfast and no meal on the airplane, announced they would be stopping for food at the first likely looking opportunity. It was early evening by the time they arrived in Manzanita, and they elected to check into a B&B near the beach and strategize over takeout.

Sam took a long gulp of his raspberry iced tea. “I’m thinking maybe we should drop by the police station tonight, ask about the case. Y’know, do the FBI thing, ask if they have any witnesses.”

Cas nodded eagerly. “Good idea. Hopefully, they’ll steer us to Dean without too many questions.”

“Right. I don’t want to focus on him too much, we’re supposed to be here investigating this weird case.” Sam took another bite and talked around it, partly muffled as he chewed. “I wonder if they found the body? I’m a little curious about what they found.”

Cas frowned at him. “We could ask, I suppose. I’m really more interested in —”

“I know, I get it. Just curious. Wouldn’t it be strange if Dean really did stumble on a supernatural case?” He gave Cas a half-smile.

“Yes, after all this time. I just hope he’s — himself. Or remembers something.”

Sam sighed, looking sympathetically at Cas. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up too high, Cas. I know, that would be great, the best outcome. Let’s just, y’know, take it one step at a time.”

“You’re right, of course.” Cas wiped his hands on a napkin and got to his feet. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.” Sam hastily swallowed the last of his tea and reached for his suit jacket.

The detective who’d investigated the attack was waiting for them when they arrived at the station.

“Hey guys, thanks for the call. I’m John Harrington, I’m the detective of record on this case. Hope I can be of help, although I gotta say I’m a little surprised at the feds being interested in this.” They shook hands, and he gestured for them to take seats in his tiny office. “What can I tell you?”

Sam cleared his throat, glancing at Cas. “I know it must seem odd. Not exactly a federal case, right?” He smiled brightly, and the detective nodded. “Our unit investigates this sort of oddball incident, mostly looking for patterns, similarities to other cases.”

“You mean like serial murders or something?” Harrington looked alarmed, and Sam shook his head quickly.

“No, no, at least we’re not to that point yet. This is mostly for record-keeping sake, not as part of a larger case, no worries.”

“Okay, that’s good to hear.” The detective glanced over at Cas, who so far had fixed him with an intense stare while saying not a word.

Sam cleared his throat again, a little louder; Harrington looked back at him questioningly.

“Our only information so far came from the television interview the victim gave the other night.” Sam looked up from his notes. “Can you tell us anything more than that?”

“Well, not much more really. Carter — Mr. Washburn, the victim — didn’t really see whatever it was that came after him and his dog. He said it was growling, sounded like a big dog or coyote, something like that. He does remember it snapping at him.” Harrington smiled briefly. “Mostly what he remembers is a lot of fangs.”

Sam chuckled; Cas managed a wan smile. “I understand there was someone else there? A neighbor, something like that?”

“Yeah, the guy was out for a walk and heard the noise. Carter talked like the guy saved him, pulled the coyote or whatever off of him.”

“So you have a witness?” Cas leaned forward intently. “Have you spoken with him?”

The detective shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, just a little. There was quite a to-do right after it happened, a neighbor’d called us and an ambulance and other folks came out to see what was happening, you know how it is. In the chaos, the other guy kinda slipped between the cracks.”

“Hmmm.” Cas’ face darkened, and Sam spoke over him.

“Have you had a chance to check in with him?

“Yeah, I talked to him the next morning as a matter of fact, although he couldn’t add much in the way of details. We’ve several odd incidents involved some kind of animal — people’s cats and dogs being attacked, and something followed a bunch of kids up from the beach one night a couple weeks ago.”

“Huh.” Sam pretended to scribble notes on his pad, until Harrington spoke again.

“Hey, if it would help I can have these guys come by tomorrow and chat with you. Or you can contact them yourselves if that would work better.”

They both nodded eagerly, and Cas spoke first. “How would we get in touch with him — them, I mean?”

“Carter’s coming in tomorrow to sign his statement, I can give you a call when he’s here. Your witness is a mechanic up at Scovell’s by the highway. He should be there first thing in the morning. Ask for Dean.”

Sam and Cas exchanged a look. Cas got to his feet and turned to the detective. “This, ah, this Dean, is there any way we can —”

“Thanks, Detective, we’ll do that. Thanks for your help.” Sam was on his feet and pulling Cas by the arm toward the door, smiling and nodding to Harrington. Cas scowled at him, pulling at his arm and grumbling at Sam as they went, their voices fading out the front door. Harrington shook his head after them. Feds, man; as bad as big-city cops.

“Sam, I would really like to pursue this tonight.”

The two of them walked down the town’s main street toward their B&B facing the beach. Cas kept glancing back the way they’d come, and around at the shops and businesses they were passing, as though he might catch sight of their quarry any minute. Sam smiled sympathetically at him.

“I want to find him too, Cas, but we can’t go door to door knocking and asking for Dean tonight. We know for sure where he’ll be in the morning. Our best bet is to wait till then, we’ll go right up to the auto shop first thing, I promise. Okay?”

Cas sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You’re right, that’s best. One more night won’t hurt.”

Sam patted Cas’ shoulder. “Hang in there, my friend. We’re close, I can feel it.”

Cas crossed the room to look out the window at the waves. The tide was coming in, the sound gradually louder as the waves moved closer. Sam watched, uncertain what to say. He was nervous and impatient himself; he couldn’t help wanting to have their answer, to know for sure after all these months of wondering and searching without any answers. He couldn’t imagine what was going through Cas’ mind right now. After a moment Cas spoke, half-turning toward Sam without looking at him.

“I think I’ll, um, just sit outside for a while, listen to the water. It’s a very pleasant evening.” He cleared his throat, head down.

“Sure, Cas, sounds good. Let me know if you need anything. And try not to worry, okay? One way or another, we’ll know in the morning.”

Cas nodded, wordless, and slipped outside. The door clicked quietly shut behind him.

~~~~

Dean woke up feeling as though he had finally had a good night’s sleep. The first few nights after the attack were filled with nightmares — part flashback, part similar battles but with other people, in other places. The tall man and the guy with the blue eyes were more and more a big part of those dreams, and Dean felt himself accepting that these weren’t dreams, but memories. Somehow, his memory was coming back.

That realization must have been a turning point, because he slept for nearly eight hours, and with no dreams that he remembered. He felt like a new man, ready for anything, and he took the steps into the Bread and Ocean in one jaunty leap.

“Wow.” Rindy was pouring coffee at a table in the front, and smirked at Dean’s entrance. “You had your Wheaties this morning.”

Dean grinned back at her. “I slept like a rock last night. I feel like a million bucks. Give me three of your finest coffee drinks, fair maiden!” He gave her an exaggerated wink.

“Oh my god.” Rindy rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should consider decaf this morning, pal. I’m not sure Dave’s ready for this much Dean.”

Dean laughed and gave a little bow when she handed the loaded drink tray to him. “Thanks, doll. Have a great day, okay?”

Rindy walked with him to the door and held it for him, chuckling as he rattled down the steps. “You bet. Don’t need to tell you to have a good one, looks like you’re already….Dean?”

Dean stopped in his tracks a few steps into the parking lot, staring across the lot at two figures striding up the street toward him. Rindy came down the steps behind him, in time to see the cardboard tray drop to the ground, its contents splattering the pavement.

~~~~

Cas was already up and moving around when Sam opened his eyes. “Wow, Cas, you get to work early.” Sam smiled and pushed himself to a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes and took a better look at Cas, who had paused whatever he was doing and stood gazing down at him. His suit looked almost as though it had been pressed; he was wearing a crisp, fresh white shirt. And by god, it looked like —

“Cas, did you shine your shoes?” Sam tried not to laugh out loud.

“Yes, I did. Is that a problem?” Cas sounded belligerent and defensive, and scowled into Sam’s laughing face.

“Not at all, in fact you look very nice. I’ll try not to feel pressure to measure up.” Sam winked, and Cas’ face relaxed a little.

“Sorry, I think — I seem to be a little nervous.” His face turned slightly pink.

“Understandable. Just give me five minutes.” Sam shuffled off into the bathroom and then poked his head back out. “Hey, we’re a little early. I was thinking we could stop off at that little coffee shop place on our way up the hill?”

“Certainly, that sounds good.” Cas made a little shooing gesture, and Sam disappeared back into the bathroom, shaking his head.

It was a little more than five minutes, Cas fidgeting every second, but finally, they started off up the street. The weather was perfect: light breeze, a few low clouds burning off the water, blue sky brightening as the sun rose higher. A couple of blocks up from the beach Cas started peering at business signs, looking for the coffee shop.

“It should be right up here, shouldn’t it?” Sam consulted the map on his phone. “Yeah, there’s a little pub up ahead and the coffee place is kind of kitty-corner across the street. It’s called Bread and Ocean.”

“Yes, I see the sign there.” Cas started angling across the main street, eyes searching intently, Sam trailing behind. “There’s the building, back from the street a little. Oh.” He stopped abruptly, right in the middle of the street, and Sam thumped into him.

“Cas, hey, what....” Sam trailed off, following Cas’ stare. “Oh my god.”

~~~~

Dean could feel his heart pounding, hear it under the roaring in his ears. He sucked in a breath, then another, gasping. His mind whirled, a thousand pictures flooding in like photographs spilled onto the floor, too much all at once but he couldn’t stop the rush of images and — memories, his memories, one after another. His knees buckled; he heard Rindy’s voice, felt her come up and kneel beside him. He heard her voice but not what she was saying, she was asking him something. He tried to speak, could only manage a croak: _Sam. Cas_. A sob broke loose, raw and harsh. _I remember_.

~~~~

“Dean.” Cas’ voice was barely audible. He squeezed Sam’s arm, just for a second, and started moving, making a beeline for Dean. Sam was right behind him.

The woman crouched next to Dean looked up at them and got to her feet. “Hold on, fellas, give him some room. Slow down.” She held up a hand, scowling fiercely.

Sam slowed his approach, grabbing Cas’ arm. “It’s all right, we — we know him, ma’am. Cas, wait, don’t rush him.” Sam pulled Cas to a stop, giving his arm a little shake.

Cas sucked in a deep breath and stopped, his eyes never leaving Dean. After a moment he crouched down, looking into Dean’s face. “Dean?”

Dean made a choking sound and wiped at his face. His head came up; his eyes found Cas, then up at Sam, who gave him a shaky smile, and then back to Cas. He tried to smile. “Cas. Sam.”

“We’re here, Dean. Can you stand?” Cas held out a hand, and Dean took it. Sam jumped to grab Dean’s other hand, Rindy at his elbow, and they all stood up. Rindy was looking uncertainly from one to the other.

“Dean, you know these guys?”

Dean turned to her. “Yeah, I do. I remember them.” He was smiling, tears still on his face, and Rindy smiled back at him. She frowned suddenly, glancing at the two strangers.

“Hey wait, these are the guys… y’know, in your dream? The tall guy, Sam? And the other one…” She stopped, making a face and giving Dean a wink. “The _other_ one.”

Dean blushed, but he slanted a smile at her. “Yeah, this is them. My brother, Sam,” he gestured at Sam, “and this is...this is Cas.” Cas moved a little closer, and Rindy’s eyes softened.

She nodded at them politely. “Hi, boys. My name’s Dorinda, but everybody calls me Rindy. Pleased to meet you, finally.” Her eyes lingered on Cas for a second.

They were getting a little attention from passersby, and Sam cleared his throat. “Hey, why don’t we take this inside? Coffee sounds good right now, and we can get caught up.”

Dean nodded. “Rindy, maybe we can take that big table back in the back?”

“Sure, no problem. Breakfast too, if you’re hungry.” She gestured toward the coffee shop and they fell in behind her. “Go on back and I’ll get you set up. I’ll see nobody bothers you.”

“Thanks.” Dean smiled gratefully, and she winked as she bustled off.

Breakfast turned into a long, rambling conversation, filling in each other’s blanks about the last year’s events. Sam sent Jody a text while they were picking through the last of their food, and she called back right away. They passed the phone back and forth so she could talk to everybody; Dean said very little, but he was smiling when they finally hung up. He looked up at Sam, still smiling but with tears in his eyes.

“What? Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam frowned in concern; Cas, sitting beside Dean, moved slightly so their shoulders bumped.

Dean leaned into him and heaved a sigh. “Nothing, I was just — listening to Jody, I realized what this has been like for all of you. I mean, it was weird for me and tough sometimes, not knowing who I was, but I, y’know, I started making a life here, I was okay. But you guys…”

Sam looked down at his plate, his lips pressed together tightly. He started to speak, but Cas beat him to it.

“It was very difficult. We had only a little information to go on in the beginning, and nothing really after that. I could imagine all sorts of awful things…” His voice failed, and he shook his head, looking away. After a moment he swallowed hard and looked directly at Dean, trying to smile. “I realized that there was — I had a great deal I wanted to say to you, and I was afraid I would never get the chance.” His voice failed again, and he wiped at his eyes.

Dean sat staring at him, stunned and unable to speak. Slowly he reached across and took Cas’ hand, holding it carefully, as though he was afraid Cas would disappear. After a moment Sam cleared his throat.

“Every hunter we know was out looking. Garth was a lot of help, kinda the central clearinghouse for everybody. Jody too, I don’t know what we would have done without either of them. I should probably drop Garth a text, now that I think of it, he’ll be glad to hear you’re safe.”

“Jody will probably take care of that, Sam.”

“Yeah, Cas, you’re right. I’m thinking he’ll want to talk to you at some point, Dean. About the creature, whatever it was that attacked Washburn. Any idea what it was? Werewolf, maybe?” He looked over at Dean, who was studiously avoiding eye contact. “Dean?”

Dean grunted. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Actually, we should call Garth and let him know right away.” He frowned, gulping the last of his coffee.

“Let him know what?”

“Sam, I think the detective has the, the body.”

Cas frowned. “He didn’t say anything when we contacted him.”

“Yeah, well, I think he probably wasn’t sure what to say. I mean, you guys were doing the FBI thing, right?” They both nodded. “And he has no idea who you really are, or who I am for that matter. He wouldn’t know you’re the only FBI agents in the country who’d actually believe him if he told you what he found.” Dean smiled crookedly, and Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. So what makes you think he’s got the body?”

Dean took a deep breath and told them about the creature dragging itself off, and Dean slipping away to follow the trail and finding it in the woods; being too freaked out to do anything but bolt out of there.

“I told Harrington where it was, and I’m pretty sure he had some of his guys go looking. And Sam, it’s — now that I remember what happened to me, that critter makes more sense. It was — you know how Michael was, I dunno, modifying demons and other monsters, getting ready for his big human extermination project? I think that’s what this was: a mega-werewolf, bigger and stronger and harder to kill. It might be worth having a closer look.”

“Hmm.” Sam looked down at the table, running his fingers along the edge of his plate, thinking. “Okay, here’s what I think. We should go back and talk to Harrington, somehow let him know we’re X-Files kinda guys, and that we know there was a body, maybe talk him into letting us take it. What do you think?”

Cas drummed his fingers on the table. “It might be worth attempting to contact local hunters, to find someone who can do that kind of examination. Perhaps that’s a good question for Garth. He seems to have contacts everywhere.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, he’s sorta becoming our new Bobby, isn’t he?” He smiled wistfully, and Sam nodded.

“He sure is. Okay, I’ll go back to the room, give Garth a call and make some arrangements. How’s that?” He smiled over at the two of them, sitting with their shoulders pressed together. “You’ve probably got some talking to do.” Sam stared meaningfully at Cas and got to his feet. He stopped to say something to Rindy and then headed out the door.

Dean glanced over at Cas, who wouldn’t meet his eyes and was blushing. Dean smiled. “C’mon, let’s take a walk. I want to show you my house.”

Sam walked down the short hill toward the beach and the B&B, smiling as he went. He felt a little odd: even after all their searching, and the last couple of days knowing they were getting close, finally finding Dean was almost an unexpected shock. Having him back was going to take a little getting used to. Although he suspected it might be a little while before he got more time with Dean; Cas looked like he had plans.

Sam chuckled as he pulled his phone out and punched in a number.

_“‘’llo?”_

“Hey, Garth, it’s Sam Winchester.”

He could practically hear Garth smiling. _“Well, Sam Winchester, how are ya? Just got off the phone with Jody, sounds like your quest was successful, hey?”_

“Yeah, we found him.” Sam could feel his own smile stretching across his face.

_“Gosh, I’m so relieved. Couldn’t imagine what would happen that Dean wouldn’t call home, y’know? It was great to hear from Jody, guess I’ve been expecting the worst. So how’s our boy doing? What happened to him?_”

“Well, long story short, I guess: the expulsion spell Cas and I cooked up had a little more punch than we anticipated. It worked, but it wiped Dean’s memory. He’s sort of been wandering around ever since.”

_“You’re kidding me. All this time? All the way to Oregon??”_

Sam unlocked the door and entered the room he and Cas were sharing. “I know, crazy even for us, right? But that’s what happened. Anyway, he’s recovering, getting his memory back, I think he’ll be okay. Looks like we’ll be heading home soon, but I need help with some evidence.”

_“Oh yeah? Whatcha got?”_

“Not completely sure yet. Judging from what Dean tells me, it sounds like some sort of werewolf, only more so. Genetically enhanced, or something. Does that ring a bell with you?”

There was a long silence, so long that Sam almost spoke again. He heard a weary sigh come down the line.

_“Well, unfortunately, I’ve been hearing some stories from hunters and some of the family about this, since, y’know…”_

“Since Michael?”

_“Yep. Let me guess: bigger, bipedal, something resembling opposable thumbs? Scary strong?”_

“Yeah, that sounds about right. You’re familiar, eh?”

_“Sure am. You said that was what Dean told you — you haven’t seen it?”_

“Not yet. We had a conversation with the detective who’s working the case, and although he didn’t say anything I had a feeling he was holding something back. Like he might not think FBI agents would believe him if he told the truth, y’know?” Garth snorted, and Sam smiled wryly. “But Dean thinks they may have recovered it.”

_“Soooo… you’re planning another chat with the detective, I take it? Maybe get the body from him, assuming he’s got it?”_

“That’s the plan, yeah. And —”

_“And you’ve got a transportation problem. My friend, you have come to the right place. Not to worry, I got your back.”_

Sam let out a relieved sigh. “I knew you’d come up with something. What do you think?”

Garth hummed under his breath for a moment._ “Okay, I’m thinkin’ we activate the phone tree. I got a couple contacts in Portland, I’m pretty sure. Maybe you guys can meet up with them, and while you’re doing that I’ll work on gettin’ the daisy chain set up and we’ll take it from there. I know a gal in Idaho who runs a cold storage place, she’s got a fleet of trucks. Hmmm…”_ Sam could hear paper shuffling, scribbling noises, Garth’s voice apparently talking to himself, and then Garth came back on the line.

_“Yeah, this won’t take long to set up. I’ll call the Portland guys first and get you started. Call you back in a couple hours?”_

“That’d be great, Garth, thank you. Someday I’d love to see your contacts list, you must know half the people in the country.”

_“Aw, nah, nothing like that. Just like to keep track of, y’know, interesting people I’ve met. You never know.”_

“That’s for sure. I’ll wait for your call, thanks again.”

_“You bet. Give ol’ Dean a hug for me, ‘kay? I’m sure glad to know he’s back in the fold. Hey, Cas is there with you, right?”_

Sam smirked. “Well, he’s not here, he and Dean —”

_“Say no more, I imagine they’ve got some catching-up to do. Do not disturb, right?”_

Sam sat for a second, mouth open in surprise. “Well, I guess this is an open secret, eh?”

Garth laughed out loud. _“Nah, not really, I’m just real observant. I mean, Dean don’t give up the game much, but I always had a feeling from Cas, y’know, like there was something going on under that stone face. He’s pretty intense sometimes. And t’tell the truth, it seemed like Dean was, I dunno, different when he was around Cas, y’know what I mean?”_

“Yeah, Garth.” Sam leaned his head against the back of the chair, smiling at the ceiling. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Dean opened the front door and gestured for Cas to come in. He stood back, watching Cas move slowly around the room. He hung back, feeling shy as Cas looked around, exploring every room. In a way, this was Dean’s life, the life he’d made for himself when he didn’t know who he was. He swallowed hard, guilt a solid lump in his gut. He knew how miserable this past year must have been for Sam and Cas, Jody, all their friends. In his head he knew it wasn’t really his fault, but it was hard not to feel ashamed of the pain his disappearance had caused for them. Dean sighed and ducked his head, frowning slightly, so deep in his thoughts it took a minute to realize Cas was saying his name. He started.

“Are you all right?” Cas was staring at him, his forehead crinkled in concern.

“Yeah, sorry, a million miles away. I’m good, Cas, honest.”

Cas tilted his head, still frowning, unconvinced. The gesture was so familiar, and it had been so long since Dean has seen it. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried a shaky smile.

“Dean, I know this must be so confusing and, and distressing. I’m sorry, if it’s too much I can leave you alone for a bit. We can meet up later for dinner.” Cas’ face looked like it was warring with itself: concern for Dean fighting with his own wish to be there, and Dean managed a real smile.

“No way. Yeah, I’m a little shook up, I feel like I’m getting used to you all over again, and there’s so much I missed, y’know? But I’m so glad to see you, Cas, there’s so much —” His voice failed, and Cas took a step toward him, then another. Dean found himself doing the same, clutching Cas in his arms and holding on tight. Cas’ arms came up to circle him, just as tight. When Dean finally eased back his face was wet. Even more surprising was the sight of tears in Cas’ eyes.

“Hey Cas, hey.” Dean squeezed Cas’ arm and was rewarded with a wobbly smile.

“I apologize, I’m not sure…” Cas shook his head sharply and stood a little straighter. “Actually, that’s not true. I am very sure.” His eyes bored into Dean’s.

“H-hey, how about we sit down? You want something to drink, or eat, or…” Dean gestured vaguely toward the kitchen, almost stumbling over his own feet. He could feel his face heating up. Cas raised one eyebrow, causing Dean’s breath to hitch in his chest, and strode past Dean into the kitchen.

They settled at the table, sitting quietly for a moment. Finally, Cas reached across the table to take Dean’s hand, smiling gently.

“I’ve lived a long time, Dean. I’ve spent long years on this earth, but never one so long as this last year, not knowing where you were, or even if you were still alive.”

“I know, Cas, I’m sorry. I would’ve called if —”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t even know who you were. I understand that, Dean. Believe me, that actually gave me some long, difficult nights. I knew you would contact us if you could. I couldn’t help wondering what was preventing you.”

Dean frowned. “Well, I’m still sorry you had to go through all that, you and Sam.”

“It was difficult for both of us, for different reasons. Sam of course missed his brother. And for me…” Cas looked away for a moment, rubbing his eyes. “I had a lot of time to think about things. I’ve come to realize that you mean a great deal to me, more than just...fellow hunters, friends, brothers. I…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on the man opposite him at the table.

Dean’s eyes were on the table, watching his fingertips tracing the grain. His shoulders were hunched over, tight with tension; he looked for all the world like a man who wished dearly he could be somewhere else. So Cas was startled to hear his voice, husky with emotion, saying something entirely different.

“I dreamed about you.” Dean cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “I didn’t know it was you until I saw you walking up the street earlier. But for the last several months I’ve been dreaming about Sam, and...and you. My memories coming back a little at a time, I guess. But when I saw you today, I knew you right away because —” He straightened and raised his head, looking straight into Cas’ eyes. “Because I feel the same way. You’re more to me than I knew, or maybe would admit. It took losing my memory to remember.” He gave Cas a lopsided smile, and Cas laughed shakily. “I feel like I’m getting a second chance. I mean, that whole thing with Michael, and the expulsion spell — that should have killed me. But somehow I’m still here, I survived all that and everything that’s happened since, and I don’t — Cas, I don’t want to waste this chance, y’know?”

Cas smiled, easily and warmly where he had been tense and uncertain; he gazed fondly back at Dean, squeezing his hand. “I do know. I understand perfectly, and I want that too. I wonder…”

“What? Wonder what?” Dean wiped his eyes.

“I’m not sure what Sam’s plans are for returning home, or what you want to do about that. I’m fairly certain Sam will want to try to get the creature’s body out of the morgue or wherever they have it. Perhaps he would be willing to take care of that and head back on his own, and we could, um…” He stopped uncertainly, and Dean couldn’t help laughing, his relief all over his face.

“I know some great places to visit along the coast, and there are a couple of places on the way home I’d like to see again. With you.”

Sam was waiting on the sidewalk in front of the Bread and Ocean when Dean and Cas strolled around the corner. The sun was beginning to slide down toward the ocean, turning the waves and the sky gold. He smiled and made a little half-wave when he saw them.

“About time you showed up. I’m starving. Rindy says the pub over there does some pretty good baby back ribs. What do you say?” He was grinning at them, hands in his pockets and a smug expression on his face.

Dean scowled at him. “What are you grinning at?”

“Oh nothing.” Sam smirked and started off down the street, glancing over his shoulder. “On a completely unrelated subject, should I get another room for tonight?”

It was Cas’ turn to look smug. The blush moving slowly up Dean’s face was enough of an answer for Sam, and he laughed out loud as they crossed the street.

Early morning fog drifted up from the beach, graying out the rising sun. The street lights were still on, flickering in the dim light, when Sam opened the front door of the coffee shop. Rindy looked up from stocking the display case in front, and nodded to him.

“Morning, Sam. Your guys are back in the back.” She jerked her head toward rear of the shop.

“Oh, they’re here already?”

She gave him a small smile. “Yeah, just got here a few minutes ago. Long enough to get a cup of coffee. They’re not actually saying much this morning, just smiling a lot.” She smirked at Sam’s chuckle, and then her face softened.

“I gotta say, it’s so good to see Dean smiling like that, so at ease, I guess you’d say. He’s been around here long enough for me to get to know him some, and he’s a great guy, but I always had the feeling there was something else going on in his head, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.”

Sam frowned. “You mean — something bad, something that bothered you?”

“No, no, not at all. My instincts are good, and I’ve never felt a bit uncomfortable around him, not for a second. Just — like there was something he wasn’t talking about. Now I get it, ‘course.” Rindy smiled ruefully. “I’m a little sad, I admit. I’m glad you guys are here, you’re obviously his family. But I’ll miss him, y’know?” She glanced up at Sam, frowning a little. “We’ll all miss him.”

Sam squeezed her arm. “I’m really glad that he ended up here. You’ve all looked out for him, took him in when he really needed friends. Thank you for being his friend.”

Rindy wiped at her eyes. “No need to thank me. Y’know, we may not have known what his name was or where he was from, but we were right about who he was. He’s a good man.”

Sam nodded, unable to speak.

Rindy patted him and made a shooing gesture. “Go on, have a seat. I’ll bring you some coffee. Go on now.”

After breakfast the three of them start up the street toward the police department. They’d only taken a few steps before Cas slowed to a stop, touching Sam’s arm to get his attention.

“Sam, I’m sorry, I wanted to ask a favor.”

Sam smiled, his eyes moving between the two of them. “Sure, Cas. What’s up?”

“Well, I wonder if you’d be willing to finish up with Detective Harrington.”

“You mean, close out the case and get the body and try to convince Harrington we’re on the up-and-up? Finish this up all by myself?”

“Oh dear.” Cas looked up at Sam guiltily. “I suppose I am asking that, yes. Do you mind? We could stay a little longer if you —”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, Cas, I don’t mind, I’m just pulling your chain. I had a call from Garth earlier. Everything’s set up on his end, truck’s on the way. Might be some extra paperwork to do, but I suspect Harrington will be happy to get this off his plate.”

Cas nodded. “Thank you, Sam. I appreciate your help.”

“Yeah, thanks, Sam.” Dean looked up shyly, a little smile paying around his lips. “I, uh, I guess I have — well, we have a little catching up to do.”

“Mmhmm.” Sam smirked at them, watching them grin and glance at each other. “Well, you might as well get going. Have you figured out what to do about a car?”

Dean nodded. “My boss up at the auto shop has a car rental operation going too. He’s letting us have something for cheap.”

Sam nodded. “Sounds good. I’m gonna head up to the PD and wrap things up. Give me a call later so I know where you are?”

Dean grinned, nudging Cas. “Aw c’mon on, Sam, don’t nag. I won’t get lost again.” Cas smiled back at him, his face alight. Sam caught his breath for a second; he couldn’t remember ever seeing Cas so happy, or Dean so at peace. He had to swallow before he could speak.

“Looks like that won’t be a problem. I don’t think Cas is planning to let you out of his sight anytime soon. See ya later, guys!” Sam waved and started across the parking lot toward the police station. When he glanced back, Dean and Cas were heading up the hill toward the auto shop, Dean talking and gesturing with one hand. Cas was smiling, his head tilted toward Dean, laughing at whatever he was saying.


	6. Epilogue

Rindy looked up when the front doorbell dinged, and smiled at the customer.

“Hey, John, how are ya? Haven’t seen you in a couple days. Little late for morning coffee, isn’t it?”

Detective Harrington slid onto one of the stools at the counter. “Hey, Rindy. Yeah, it’s more like afternoon coffee, I guess. Had some finishing-up to do with that Washburn case.”

“Oh yeah?” Rindy eased a mug of hot coffee across the counter and added a small plate almost completely covered by a single muffin. Harrington sighed with satisfaction and took a bite.

“Yep, that FBI guy came and signed off on the paperwork, closed everything out. Released that critter to him, so I’m all done with the circus, thank god.”

“He took the carcass? That’s kinda strange, isn’t it?” Rindy frowned at him.

Harrington shrugged, busying himself with his muffin and not meeting her eyes. “Yeah, I guess. No skin off my nose, let him deal with it. I guess he and his partner already talked to our witness, so they’re pretty much wrapped up. Should be leaving soon.”

“Oh, they’re already gone. I guess you missed the excitement, I forgot to tell you! Those two guys weren’t — well, I guess they’re FBI agents, but they’re Dean’s family.”

“His family? You’re kidding, how’d they find him?”

Rindy gestured vaguely. “I’m not sure, now that you mention it. They’ve been looking for quite a while, I guess. Kinda weird they came to town for that case and Dean was involved in it, huh?”

Harrington looked at her thoughtfully. “Yeah, weird. Did Dean remember who they were?”

Rindy grinned. “He sure did. Thought he was gonna topple over in the parking lot. As soon as he saw them he recognized them and remembered who he is and everything. The big tall guy’s his brother, Sam I think his name is.”

Harrington stopped moving, the mug halfway to his mouth. “Sam and Dean? Why does that ring a bell?” He put the mug back down and frowned, fingers drumming on the countertop. “Did they mention their last name by any chance?”

“Hmmm.” It was Rindy’s turn to look thoughtful, gazing off into the distance. Then her face cleared. “Yeah, it was Winchester, I remember because of the rifle, y’know. What’s wrong?”

Harrington’s mouth hung open for a second, then he shut it with a snap. His eyes were wide. “That’s why that sounded familiar, I remember a while back getting a wanted notice — hell, it had to be some years ago now. Coupla escapees from the midwest somewhere, the FBI was looking for them.”

Rindy stared. “Now_ that_ is weird. I can’t imagine — John? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Harrington swallowed and looked up at her. “I think maybe I did. It just came back to me, all of it — I remember that name because we got another notice awhile after that about the escapees, they’d been killed. Sam and Dean Winchester, deceased. They’re supposed to be dead.”

~end~


End file.
